


When in Rome

by PinkGerberDaisies



Series: Quebecois Royals AU [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fictional Royal Families, First Time Sex, Fluff, Movie AU, Roman Holiday AU, Romance, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-08-17 06:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16511465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGerberDaisies/pseuds/PinkGerberDaisies
Summary: Overwhelmed by her suffocating schedule touring European cities on behalf of her royal family, Princess Tessa takes off for a night of adventure while in Rome. When a sedative she took kicks in unexpectedly, however, she falls asleep on a bench and is found by a friendly, young Canadian man who takes her back to his apartment for safety. Tessa only intended to run away for a few hours, but the offer of adventure and the prospect of romance soon gets in the way of her plans - changing her life foreverInspired by the classic Audrey Hepburn film: Roman Holiday.





	1. away from the maddening crowds

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing fast and loose with politics here, so don't overthink anything too much, but since I'm kind of a history nerd I had to do a little backstory. Basically Quebec was founded as its own country after its War of Independence from France in 1620-23, naming founder Samuel de Champlain the first king in what eventually became North America's first constitutional monarchy.  
> The capital city is Quebec City.  
> The royal family took the official last name of Virtue and a personal family motto of "virtus pietatis honore" (virtue, loyalty, and honor).  
> The official residence is Le Château Frontenac in Quebec City.  
> The favorite royal estate is based on the TuLyons mansion outside of Montreal (look it up, it's gorgeous).

** away from the maddening crowds **

 

**- Quebec Chronicle-Telegraph News Flash -**

_The Quebec Chronicle-Telegraph brings you a special coverage of Princess Tessa’s visit to London, the first stop on her much publicized goodwill tour of European capitals. She gets a royal welcome from the British as thousands cheer the gracious young member of North America’s only royal family. After three days of continuous activity and a visit to Buckingham Palace, Her Royal Highness flew to Amsterdam where she dedicated the new International Aid Building and christened an ocean liner. Then went to Paris where she attended many official functions designed to cement trade relations between Quebec and the Western European nations._

_And so to Rome, the eternal city, where the Princess’ visit was marked by a large motorcade and a meeting with President Giorgio Napolitano. The smiling young Princess showed no sign of the strain of the past few weeks of continuous public appearances. And at her country’s embassy that evening, a formal reception and ball in her honor was given by Quebec’s ambassador to Italy._

_\-----_

The embassy’s opulent ballroom is a burst of color and activity. Everywhere you look there are people coming and going, shaking hands, making introductions that hint at possible political negotiations later, schmoozing and networking. A mass of smiling faces that vary from fake to genuine.

For some, a night like this is the height of elegance and entertainment, but for Tessa it’s the very last place she wants to be.

Peeking into the room from behind the slightly open double-doors, waiting for her presumably ostentatious entrance, Tessa can see the crowd ebbing and flowing like a tidal wave as people mill about and inside her chest her heart beats faster and faster. Pounding out the words _run, run, run, run_ as if she's moments away from entering a sprint race. 

Sometimes that's how these events feel. Like getting dragged off the street to run races with people who are professional runners and look at her as if she only barely learned how to crawl.

“Are you ready, Your Highness?” Her faithful and ever present Private Secretary, Suzanne, walks up behind her, gesturing towards the ballroom and encouraging Tessa to step forward.

“As ready as I ever am,” Tessa replies, her voice getting a little higher in pitch and sounding more false as she slips effortlessly into the public persona she’s perfected over her (as of tomorrow) twenty-one years of life.

She dreads this moment. The grand entrance. The pomp and circumstance. All the eyes zeroed in on her - noting every flaw. If it were left up to her, she would enter through the back without any announcement at all. 

The doors open and Tessa takes a steadying breath before walking gracefully into the ballroom as the Master of Ceremonies announces her arrival.

“Presenting Her Royal Highness, Tessa Jane McCormick Virtue, Princess of Quebec.”

The room goes quiet as everyone clears a path for her down the middle of the floor, leading to the ornate red and gold chair on the elevated dais at the far end of the room. The familiar notes of Gens du Pays floating over their heads from the orchestra seated along the left wall. 

Accompanying her on her procession through the room is Ambassador Alexandra Bugailiskis, a couple of dignitaries, a general, and Suzanne – although they all stay a few steps behind her as protocol demands.

 _Always alone, yet never by myself_ , Tessa thinks with a heavy sigh that she keeps trapped inside her lungs, _that could be the name of my official biography someday_.

She nods her head politely to acknowledge each of the guests as she passes them, fixing her mouth into one of her best and brightest smiles, and tries not to trip over the full skirts of the pink ball gown her head of wardrobe, Mathieu, had chosen for her for the evening.

She knows she looks every bit the perfect princess in the lace and chiffon gown, sparkling tiara, and pair of stylish heels (that she’d been promised would be comfortable but had already started pinching her toes and rubbing into the back of her ankle). Sweet, innocent, virginal - all part of the image her mother and Suzanne had worked together to curate from a young age. But it all feels like a farce. A grand charade.  

A grand  _miserable_ charade. That’s how she’s been viewing this tour of “goodwill,” and, if she’s being honest, the entire past year of her life.

Europe is supposed to be an amazing continent full of life and history and diversity and wondrous sights to behold. But so far all Tessa has seen is the inside of various embassies, governmental buildings, and luxury town cars that shuttle her back and forth between the two.

The only nice part about her visit so far has been the garden party at Kensington Palace where she’d met Prince William’s fiancé – the lovely Kate Middleton – and been allowed a brief walk around the gardens all by herself. Fifteen glorious minutes spent alone.

 _Really_ alone.

Solitude has become a rare commodity that Tessa treasures beyond anything else, and she takes full advantage of every moment that she can get.

Every little girl dreams of being a princess – the dresses, the parties, the money, the charming prince – but no little girl understands just how awful it can be having to live with the constant media attention, the scrutiny, the never-ending shuffling around from one duty to another, and never truly having a moment to yourself.

It hadn’t been so bad when she was growing up. The first seventeen years of her life she had been kept relatively out of the public eye, doted on by her parents and older siblings, and encouraged to focus mainly on her education. But when she’d graduated early from McGill University her parents had decided it was time for her to take on a more public role in the family business.

Which meant press events and important dinners and meeting with politicians and every second of her life becoming dedicated to the Family’s needs, not her own.

The closest she had ever come to true freedom was that all too brief time at McGill, during which she had been allowed to live in campus housing (with added security, of course), and had a secret service guard with her all day in classes. So even then she hadn't really been alone. 

(Although they had given her guard, Frank, an honorary degree at the end of it, so she supposes having him with her wasn't all bad). 

She thanks her lucky stars every day that at least she’s not the oldest child. Not anywhere near close to the throne. Casey’s life has been entirely in the public eye – with every single move criticized and photographed and discussed ad nauseam in tabloids – and she has no idea how he handles it so well. Somehow he’d managed to get married to a genuine sweetheart and find happiness and fulfillment within his role as crown prince, and Tessa wishes he would tell her the secret so that she can find happiness too.

But she hopes most of all that someday, long down the road when he takes over for their father and there are new royal children for people to focus on, that maybe then she’ll be allowed a little more freedom.

The orchestra finishes playing the anthem just as she reaches the dais, and Tessa moves immediately to sit down and give her aching feet a break when Suzanne stops her with a light touch on the elbow. She tilts her head almost imperceptibly and Tessa follows her line of sight to see guests forming a line - eager to meet her. 

Stifling yet another sigh, Tessa digs her heels in and prepares to be the perfect princess.

It’s going to be a long night.

         

\------- 

 

One of the few perks of being treated like a young thing in need of protection is that she gets to leave the party early – although not without another long round of bowing and kowtowing and farewells and promises of invitations to tea and dinner (and even a hint or two at being set up on a date with one nobility or another - gross) first.

By the time Tessa had reached her assigned bedroom she’d been practically tearing the dress off herself, anxious to get into her silk pajamas (also chosen by Mathieu, who does what he can, bless him, to make her happy, but operates under strict guidelines) and take all the pins out of her hair.

Once all that’s accomplished, she can finally relax – sitting down on the window seat and staring out over the Roman skyline. There’s a golden glow over the city and in the distance she can see St. Peter’s Basilica shining like a beacon of faith. The sound of music and laughter can be heard from a little ways away, and she sighs – resting her elbow on the windowsill and propping her chin up with her hand.

There’s a light breeze tonight, the smell of warm dirt and citrus on the air, and Tessa breathes it in – letting it call to her.

 _Join us_ , it seems to say, and her heart longs to answer.

“Did you find the pajamas we packed for you? It’s a new set that I think you’ll like more than the last one.” Suzanne walks into the room carrying a tray of chamomile tea and her ever-present day planner. In the seven years she’s known the older woman, Tessa’s never seen her without that goddamn book. When she was fifteen she'd written "Princess Tessa's Warden" on the front cover in silver Sharpie and received a stern reprimand from both Suzanne and her mother, but it still holds true today. 

“Did you know some women sleep in men’s dress shirts?” Tessa comments casually, tugging at the tightly woven ivory silk of her pajama pants in distaste.

“What?” Suzanne looks up in confusion from where she’s adding a small serving of honey to Tessa’s cup, and Tessa can’t say that she blames her for being a little befuddled. It was a wild, random, passing thought.

 _And some people don’t sleep in anything at all,_ her brain supplies – something she’d seen in a movie once late at night and hadn’t been able to shake. It seemed so _intimate_ to her. To sleep naked, maybe even naked with someone else. To feel that kind of closeness to someone. For a girl who’s barely kissed three boys in her life, one of whom doesn’t count because it had been on a dare when they were twelve, it’s an exhilarating thought.

Sometimes she wonders what it would be like to have someone to share all of this with. A hand to hold. Someone to walk by her side, instead of five feet behind. Maybe it would make it all worth it. 

She knows Casey and Kevin dated around before they found the one and got married (as the media more than happily shared with the world), and that Jordan has had a few boyfriends, but her luck in that department has never been great. Boys either seem to find her title too intimidating, or the only reason she’s worth dating.

The last boy she’d kissed, a cute blonde from one of her psychology classes at McGill that she _thought_ liked her for her sense of humor, had asked her if that kiss earned him his own title as soon as they were done.

She hadn’t spoken to him again.

Instead of voicing all this to Suzanne, though, Tessa turns back to the window with a muttered, “Nevermind,” and closes her eyes, pretending that she’s at the street party far away and dancing freely with the other guests. Not waltzes or foxtrots, but dances that let her body decide how it wants to move. Swaying hips and intricate arm movements. Dances where the only thing that matters is the beat and how it makes you _feel_.

"Come away from the window, Your Highness. You don’t want to catch a cold.”

A cold. As if she could get sick on a balmy night in May.

But Tessa does as she’s told anyway, begrudgingly allowing Suzanne to pull the window closed and latch it shut tight.

“I’ve brought your tea, let’s go over the schedule while you drink it.”

Tessa climbs into bed and accepts the tea cup with a small smile, mentally steeling herself for the onslaught of information she’s about to receive. It’s been the routine every night since her parents first hired Suzanne for her to brief her on the next day’s itinerary before bed, and it never fails to make Tessa restless and stressed.

“Eight thirty, breakfast here with the embassy staff. Nine o’clock, we leave for the Polinory Automotive Works where you’ll be presented with a small car.”

“Thank you,” Tessa replies automatically, rehearsed and robotic, hardly paying attention. Instead she dwells on the swirls in the tea as she spins her spoon round and round and round inside it – creating tiny whirlpools.

“Which you will not accept,” Suzanne corrects her, and Tessa shrugs and adjusts her answer.

“No, thank you.”

“Ten thirty-five, inspection of the Roman Agricultural Organization, whose president will present you with an olive tree.”

“No, thank you,” Tessa replies first this time, assuming that it’s the correct answer, flipping the spoon over and watching the tea fall back into the cup with a small splash.

“Which you _will_ accept.”

“Thank you.” She amends, sipping the tea and trying not to gag. She hates chamomile, but Suzanne had asked a doctor how to help ease her restlessness with natural methods and that’s what he’d suggested. Which meant it was now the rule.

“Ten fifty-five, the Newfoundling Home for Orphans. You will preside over the laying of the cornerstone; same speech as last Monday.”

“Trade relations?” Tessa glances up at Suzanne, who shakes her head.

“No, the other one.”

“Youth and progress,” Tessa recites, dipping her finger into the cup and painting brown shapes into the fancy napkin that really look more like Rorschach inkblots than they do the intended colosseum and Roman Forum. Places she’s dreamed about seeing, but won’t have time for on this trip.

“Precisely. Eleven forty-five, back here to rest. No, that’s wrong. Eleven forty-five, conference here with the press.”

Tessa sighs and rolls her eyes. She hates talking to the press. They always ask the same questions, usually either about fashion or her love life (she speaks three languages, has a degree, royal duties, diplomatic agendas, but they never ask her about any of that).

"I must behave with sweetness and decency,” She nods at Suzanne and goes back to her artwork.  

“One o’clock sharp, lunch with the Foreign Ministry. You will wear your white lace blouse and blue pencil skirt. Three-o-five, presentation of a plaque.”

Tessa starts nodding as if to an audience and waving her hand in mockery of herself, mouthing the words thank you and no, thank you over and over as Suzanne continues making her way down the schedule, until finally it becomes too much.

“Stop!” She screams, throwing herself down on the bed and burying her face in the pillow, “Please stop! Stop!”

“Tessa!” Suzanne exclaims, her voice so shocked that it nearly gets her to sit back up and compose herself. Suzanne hardly ever addresses her so informally. “What’s wrong?”

She picks up the spilled cup and places it on the bedside table, before placing a gentle hand on Tessa’s upper back, but Tessa shrugs it off. She doesn’t want platitudes and hollow words of affirmation right now. She wants… she just wants  _more_.

To walk down a street by herself. To taste gelato without some crappy magazine commenting on the calories. To see a movie in a public movie theater. To dance at a casual party with friends. To be a normal tourist. To be free.

“Leave me alone to die.” She grumbles melodramatically into the pillow and she can feel Suzanne relax on the mattress next to her.

“You’re not going to die. It’s just nerves. I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure these past few weeks – managing this tour all by yourself so far away from your family – but we’re all very proud of you and it’s almost over. You can make it one more day.”

“I _can’t!_ ” Tessa tries not to yell again, but she can’t help it. It’s all too much. Her schedule, her responsibilities, her life. She needs a break. Needs a chance to just be Tessa Virtue, the girl from Quebec, not Her Royal Highness Tessa Jane McCormick Virtue, fourth in line to the throne.

“You can and you will, you just need to calm down. Do you need a sleeping pill tonight?”

“No, I don’t need a sleeping pill! I need you to STOP and leave me alone!” Embarrassingly, tears have started flooding her cheeks and soaking the pillowcase, and Tessa vigorously wipes them away. She hates crying in front of people.

“You’re overtired and it’s making you irrational. I’ll go get some Temazepam for you so that you can actually get some rest tonight. I know your insomnia gets worse when you’re sleep deprived.” Suzanne rises from the bed and heads towards the door, pausing to look back at her with a sympathetic smile, “You’ll feel better in the morning after you’ve slept.”

Tessa buries herself face-first into the mattress and stubbornly refuses to move from the spot despite the fact that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Not that it really matters. She’s been feeling that way for months now mentally, it might as well be a physical sensation too.

Suzanne walks back in and tugs her hand out from the under the pillow, placing a familiar pill in it and curling her fingers over it so that Tessa doesn’t drop it, “Tessa, sit up and take this.”

Hiccuping quietly, a side-effect that occurs any time she cries, Tessa does as she’s told – drinking a cup of water to help it go down and opening her mouth wide to prove to Suzanne that she really did swallow it – and then lays back down.

"This will help, Your Highness, you’ll see. Rest now. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.’

“Eight thirty, breakfast with the embassy staff,” Tessa mutters, already feeling the effects of the drug and starting to drift off, barely conscious enough to hear Suzanne’s answering chuckle as she slips the door closed – bathing her in darkness.

        

When Tessa wakes up later it’s still dark outside and the ornate clock on the wall shows that it’s only eleven thirty. Normally the pill knocks her out for a good six to eight hours, but she’s had to rely on it so often lately that she suspects it’s beginning to lose its potency.

It’s quiet. Nothing but the distant, muffled sounds of the party still going on a few blocks away.

Moonlight streams in through the window where the curtains haven’t been completely closed, casting oblong shadows across the walls, and a crazy, impulsive idea slips into Tessa’s brain.

If she’s very, very quiet, she could probably open the window and sneak outside. It’s quite large enough to fit her small frame through it and there’s a balcony just outside for her to land on, and a column she could probably shimmy down if she’s careful. She's always been pretty athletic and feels confident she could handle it without falling and breaking a limb.

She could escape for a few minutes without any body noticing. Maybe take a walk around the embassy gardens all by herself. Maybe even go further and see a few blocks of the city.

It’s definitely a bad idea. She has obligations to uphold and a family to honor and a country to make proud, but somehow she finds herself getting out of bed and wandering over to her closet anyway.

Before she’s really thought it through, she’s dressed in a white sundress and a fitted light pink sweater that she leaves unbuttoned down the front. Jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers would be a lot more convenient, but that’s the kind of outfit she’s only allowed to wear at home in the privacy of their 22,000 square foot estate. It’s not appropriate for a diplomatic goodwill tour and therefore not included in her wardrobe.

Despite the inconvenience of the dress, she manages to drop to the ground with ease, resisting the temptation to whoop with joy at her successful escape from the bedroom, and heads towards the back of the property where the gardens are.

It’s beautiful in the starlight and the breeze tickles her hair, and Tessa wants _more_. It’s addicting, this feeling of independence that’s already started to creep in, and she wants to chase it.

“Ciao! Ci vediamo domani!” One of the gardeners waves to the estate manager and Tessa can see his truck parked at the end of the drive. His truck that he’ll surely be driving home.

Outside the gates.

Away from the embassy.

In a flash Tessa skirts around the trees and flowers and large topiaries and climbs into the bed of the truck, pulling one of the tarps over herself and praying that nobody saw her.

She can hear the man climbing into the cab, whistling Funiculì Funiculà to himself, and her heart beats wildly as he starts up the car and heads to the exit – the exit where security will be waiting.

The moment of truth.

If she's caught now she'll be in a world of trouble, but it's definitely worth it to try. 

“Eri qui in ritardo stasera,” Tessa can vaguely hear their conversation through the blood pounding in her ears. _You were here late tonight._

“Sì, molto lavoro da fare.” The gardener replies with a chuckle. _Yes, lots of work to do._

“Questa principessa fa più lavoro per tutti noi,” The guard laughs back, and Tessa winces. _This princess makes more work for us all_.

Well, this princess would rather she didn’t have so much work either, but it isn’t exactly her choice.

“Si! Buona note!”

“Buona note!”

They bid farewell to each other and with that the truck rumbles back to life and they’re off again, past the security gates and out onto the road. They made it through. 

She’s so nervous she could throw up.

She’s so excited she could jump for joy.

There’s a haziness slipping back into her mind and a drowsy sort of humming in her ears, but she ignores it in favor of peeking out over the bed of the truck and watching the neighborhoods go past. Ancient buildings made of concrete and newer ones sandwiched in between and flowers everywhere. Music that leaks out of the propped open windows and the sounds of friendly chatter. Churches that pop up at random every few blocks and ornate statues that seem to occupy every street corner as if they’re as common as the road signs.

It’s amazing.

The gardener comes to a stop outside of a twenty-four hour café and Tessa waits until he’s inside the building before hopping out of the car and scampering around the corner.

For the first time in her life she has no idea where she is or where she’s going, and it’s exhilarating.

The sights, the smells, the sounds. The way it feels to be wandering the streets late at night as if she's in a world entirely her own. She could live like this forever. Like Julia Roberts in  _Eat, Pray, Love_ \- wandering around the world and following wherever her heart leads her. 

The drowsiness becomes persistent though, a worrying sign that the medication she'd thought was ineffective is actually kicking in again, and exhaustion sets in as she nears a plot of ruins. A round building that looks like a smaller Colosseum and some free-standing columns that are all that remains of the temple they must have once been, and she glimpses a nearby sign that reads: Templi di Apollo Sosiano e di Bellona.

It's beautiful and peaceful and there's nobody around, so she sits down on the stone wall for just a moment.

 _I'm just taking in the view_. 

Just a second to rest her eyes and her feet, and then she’ll continue.

Maybe just the tiniest of cat naps.

She slumps sideways and is out like a light in seconds.

 


	2. sotto il cielo di roma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott Moir, a young Canadian man living his life in Italy with no idea of how it's about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your positive and enthusiastic response to the first chapter of this story! I'm sorry it's taken so long to update, but here's chapter 2!

** sotto il cielo di roma **

****

The sound of children shouting and laughing as they play football down in the courtyard carries in through the open window along with beams of morning sunlight, poking and prodding at Scott’s consciousness and forcing him to wake up.

It's clear from the sunshine and the twittering birds on the rooftops outside that another beautiful day is dawning in the eternal city, and Scott hops out of bed with his usual enthusiasm.

It used to drive his mother crazy, how much of a morning person he is, but eventually she’d learned to help him channel it into being productive by getting his chores done first thing while everyone else was sleeping. Now, though, Scott enjoys waking up early so that he can get ready at a leisurely pace instead of panicking about being late for work.

He sets the old, struggling coffee machine to brew, hitting it once on the side when it stars whirring in that disconcerting way it does sometimes, before padding across the beige tile floor and wandering out onto his small terrace - idly scratching his chest as he goes and running his hands through his fluffy hair.

There’s nothing like waking up to the familiar sights and scents of Rome, even if the sight from his terrace consists mostly of other ancient apartment buildings and a stone courtyard that’s more often than not being overrun by children. Everyone's windows are thrown wide open and boxes of brightly colored flowers dot the windowsills - adding life to the otherwise browns and tans and faded yellows of the buildings.

Scott keeps expecting that the more time he spends in Italy the more the novelty will wear off and he'll grow tired of it, but he still loves it each morning just as much as the day before.

He’d moved to Rome after graduating with his business degree the previous year back in good old London, Ontario. He'd been following the path his parents had planned for him when his hockey dreams didn't quite pan out, anticipating moving back to Ilderton after graduation, but when he reached the end of his schooling he discovered that his heart just wasn't in it.  He’d just gone through a nasty break up with his girlfriend and been in desperate need of something different - something new - and Ilderton just wouldn't cut it. 

He’d been offered a position at Arcane, the number one fastest growing company in the area and by all accounts an amazing opportunity, but after one interview he knew that kind of soul-sucking life sitting behind a desk managing someone else's money wasn’t for him. And he could never live with the, “it’s not personal, it’s business,” motto that seemed to follow him everywhere inside the building.

For Scott, everything is personal. That’s what makes life worth living.

So when his friend Chiddy had shown up at his apartment with a case of Molson in one hand and an offer to join him at a sixth month internship opportunity in Rome in the other, he’d agreed to go without a second thought. And when the internship ended and Chiddy went back home to Canada, Scott decided to stay.

He’s kept busy working as a delivery driver for a company called Speedy Boys (a name he knows sounds like a crappy B movie about race car drivers) and taking on other random odd jobs for people here and there - somehow managing to make his rent each month - and even though from the outside it looks like his life is a waste of a good degree, he’s twenty-two years old and never been happier.

The coffee machine whirs in the background, not quite ready yet, and Scott takes a minute to wave to Mrs. Bianchi in the opposite building. A kind, elderly woman who likes to do her washing on her terrace in the mornings and always has a fresh zeppoli or two to share when he goes over to play Scopa with her and her husband once a week. The old couple always has the most interesting stories about growing up during the war under the rule of Mussolini, and Scott loves listening to them, even if his grasp of the Italian language is still subpar.

She waves back with a wrinkled smile and Scott heads back inside his studio apartment to grab his coffee mug and take a quick shower.            

There’s a text waiting for him from his boss Renato when he gets back out reminding him of the consequences of being late, and Scott sighs – tugging on his beloved black leather jacket, a hand-me-down from his brother Danny that's creased and malleable after so many years of use - and heads out the door. 

He likes his job, loves the fact that it provides so much freedom - zipping around town, meeting all sorts of new people - but his boss can be a bit of a hard ass.  

“Buongiono, Scott,” An elderly man, and Scott’s landlord for the past year, greets him from his chair in the corner of the courtyard, leisurely smoking one of the cigarettes he rolls himself and sells for a few cents each to a few of the neighbors.

Scott’s come to accept that the man must live in that exact spot, because he’s only seen him out of the chair once or twice and he’s _always_ there if Scott’s a day or two late on rent.

“Buongiono, Signor Russo.”

A chorus of _Scott! Scott! Scott_! grabs his attention as the hoard of children abandon their game to surround him, chattering excitedly in broken English:  

“Will you play with us?” A few of them ask, and Scott frowns. 

“I wish I could, but I can’t right now, I have to go to work.”  

“Can I go for a ride on your Vespa?”

Scott grins at the little girl, tugging playfully on the end of one of her pigtails, “You know your father already said no, Anna.”

“Are you coming to the party tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Scott addresses the last kid, Paolo, ruffling his hair affectionately, “I wouldn’t miss the party for the world.”

A chorus of celebratory yells breaks out and Scott laughs, "And we can all play football next Saturday, I promise." 

“Will you bring a woman to the party this time?”

He hadn’t noticed the arrival of Signora Ricci, the boy’s mother, but he grins when he sees her walking towards them from her doorway with a teasing smile, the shallow crow's feet and her laugh lines only somehow serving to make her look younger.

Paolo and his mother had become Scott’s second family while in Italy - keeping him stuffed full of delicious pasta and the best bruschetta he’s ever eaten and always meddling in his love life. But he adores the widow like a second mother.

“Now, Rosa, how could I ever find anyone who could measure up to you?” He throws her an exaggerated wink, making the kids around him giggle, and she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. No patience for his harmless flirting. 

“Magai! Sei nelle nuvole! You should be more serious, Scott. Find a girl. It’s not good for a man to be alone so long. It only leads him to mischief.”

“Maybe today’s my lucky day, eh? Maybe today,” He winks again and kisses her on the cheek, before bidding them all farewell and jogging through the alleyway out to his Vespa.

The text from Renato weighs heavy in the back of his mind as he weaves in and out between cars on his way to work. It’s not as if he’s ever late on purpose, but he does have a bad habit of getting sucked into conversations with people, like the one with Rosa this morning, and forgetting to keep an eye on the time.

Today, though, he’s doing well and on track to be _early_ for once, which means avoiding the punishment of having to clean and lock up the warehouse after work – a task he hates, but has had to do on more than one occassion.

Happily speeding down the road past the Borghese Gardens, one of his favorite parts of the city, Scott signals to turn merge onto Via Pinciana and nearly gets hit by a giant black limousine – slamming hard on his breaks and barely missing the other vehicle by a hair.

“Andara a puttane! Watch where you’re going, asshole!” Scott yells, throwing up his hands and putting one of the phrases his coworker Luca had taught him to good use.

The driver takes no notice of him though, continuing on his merry way up the road – the blue and white flags on the front and back that Scott recognizes as belonging to Quebec flapping happily in the wind – and he shakes his head and hisses. Stupid fucking foreign government people who have no respect for other drivers. A few pedestrians nearby shake their heads and tsk at the limo as well, and Scott nods at them in solidarity before kicking his Vespa back into motion and heading the rest of the way to work.

He’s definitely going to be late now.

 

\-------

 

"Nearly got hit by some German today. Foreign drivers can kiss my ass,” Luca spits, tossing a few chips onto the card table and blowing a cloud of thick white smoke into his little apartment - gesturing for Scott to take his turn, “No offense, Scott.”

On days when they are late to work and forced to stay after closing to clean up the shop, Luca usually invites his coworkers over to join him and a few neighbors in a game or two of poker, and tonight Scott decided to accept the invitation.

He used to play all the time, but his competitive nature drove him into debt and, after a good smack around the head from Rosa, Scott had limited himself to once a month and put a cap on how much he could spend.

“None taken. Some Quebecois idiot in a limo almost ran me over this morning,” Scott looks over his cards – three of a kind, not bad. But it would be better if he could turn it into a flush. Tossing a few of his own chips into the center of the table, he mutters, “Call,” and prays for some luck. 

Beer bottles are scattered around the table and Scott reaches for one of the few left that is still unopened, hitting it against the edge of the table to take off the top and taking a long sip of the warm liquid for confidence.

“A limo in Rome? Are these people insane? Probably some government official who thinks they’re better than the rest of us. I’ll raise,” Sergio, a big, older man and Luca's downstairs neighbor, smirks at his hand and pushes a good portion of his chips into the center, glancing at Scott with a look that’s a little too calculating.

Scott grits his teeth and tries to smooth out his face into something a little more impassive. His problem isn’t his skill at the game, but his tendency to display every emotion that he feels on his face. An open book, his family always called him, and unfortunately it’s true. It's why his older brothers, who had taught him how to play in the first place, always ended up with his monthly allowance. 

"Quebec is Canada's more pretentious neighbor. I'm not really surprised." Scott doesn't really pay too much attention to politics, but he does know Quebec has some sort of royal family (even if his limited use of the internet means he has no idea what they look like), and that's a big enough sign to him that it's a ridiculous country.

The two other players, Angelo and Stefano, fold before Luca calls his friend’s bet with his signature lopsided grin, sagging backwards into his chair and squishing all his cards together. He rubs his shaved head with his free hand, something Scott's learned to recognize he does for luck, and tosses a few pistachios into his mouth.

 _Genuinely confident or bluffing?_ Scott wonders, glancing back at his own cards and weighing the numbers in his mind. If he calls the bet and ends up losing he could be out over a hundred euros, but if he folds now he only loses fifty.

 _I should have learned how to count cards,_ he thinks with a pang of regret,  _that would have been more useful than my business degree_. 

“I’m out tonight, guys. I fold.” Scott tosses his cards onto the table and gathers up the chips he has left, shrugging at Luca in defeat. There's a chance he could win, but better safe than sorry. 

Sergio laughs, loud and boisterous and full-bodied, “As always, Scott. Never willing to just risk it all.”

“I’d like to be able to buy groceries this week, Sergio,” Scott shoots back, slugging the guy on the shoulder before putting on his leather jacket and making sure that his keys are still in his pocket.

“You play it safe, I understand,” Sergio replies, still laughing as he raises the bet one last time and Luca folds, “But safe isn’t always the way to success.”

His places his hand on the table – revealing a completely useless collection of cards. He doesn't even have a two-pair. All four of the other men groan in unison as Sergio just laughs again. 

“Ay! A fanabla! Avere un culo così grande,” Luca mutters, popping open another bottle of beer and downing half of it in one go.

“It’s not about luck, Luca my friend, it’s about being bold.” Sergio winks and scoops up his winning chips, collecting the wads of cash owed to him from each man around the circle.

“Let's go again!” Luca shouts, already shuffling the deck, but Scott shakes his head.

“I think I’ll quit before I fall further behind,” Scott chuckles, “See you gentlemen at work.”

“Ciao!”

“Ciao!” 

 

Scott heads out into the starry evening, admiring the way the lights from the buildings reflect off the cobblestones and inhaling the fresh scent of oleander and jasmine growing in Luca’s neighbor’s garden. Dreams of going to bed early for once taunt him as he heads in the direction of his apartment.

His Vespa is parked nearby, but the few beers that he had during the game still hum pleasantly in his blood – adding a faint glow to everything – so he opts to walk home instead. It’s only a few blocks, and there’s nothing quite as romantic and wonderful as Rome at night.

As he walks, he whistles. Picking whatever tune pops into his head and enthusiastically broadcasting it to the world like an annoying radio station.

He’s just got to the chorus of Simon and Garfunkel’s _Feelin’ Groovy_ when he sees her.

Across the street there’s a girl slumped over on the stone wall in front of the Templi di Apollo Sosiano e di Bellona. It’s an odd place to take a nap and one of the lesser frequented ruins in the city, and for one heart stopping moment he thinks she might be dead.

Glancing both ways to make sure there aren’t any cars coming (he really can’t afford a visit to the emergency room unless he gets a lot better at poker), Scott jogs over to her to look for signs of life.

At first she does appear to be deceased – her body completely relaxed and unmoving, fingertips grazing the sidewalk - but then she takes a deep breath and lets out a little squeak when she sighs and he relaxes.

Asleep. Not dead. She probably had too much to drink at a bar nearby with friends and wandered off and passed out.

“Hey,” He crouches down and places a hand gently on her shoulder, not wanting to startle her. He can’t see her face, just a mass of dark brown hair, but she seems well-dressed – not at all like someone he’d normally expect to find passed out on the street, “Hey, wake up!”

“No, thank you,” She mumbles, and Scott can tell from her accent that she’s not Italian. In fact, she sounds like she’s from much closer to his corner of the world.

“You can’t get caught sleeping out here. It’s not safe,” He shakes her a little harder and she clumsily pushes herself up off the cement to a sitting position, brushing her hair out of her face with wide sweeping motions that don’t actually do much good and looking at him with glassy eyes.

Green eyes.

Gorgeous eyes.

It almost takes his breath away, how beautiful this girl is. 

“Are you the foreign minister?” Her voice is slurred and her eyelids are already drooping shut and Scott's laugh bursts out of him in surprise at the ridiculous, unexpected question. _Who is this girl?_

“No. But I am trying to help you out here. What’s your name?”

Her head bobs as she mumbles something that sounds like _Bessie_ (a name he doesn’t think suits her at all, but maybe it's short for Elizabeth), chin falling to her chest. Amazingly, she’s already fallen back asleep.

“Jeez. How much did you have to drink?”

Scott shifts around so that he’s sitting next to her on the wall and looks around helplessly for signs that anybody might be looking for her. Her friends must be pretty shitty to just let her get wasted and wander off like this.   

Thoughts of heading straight home and crawling into bed evaporate with a heavy sigh and an accusing glance up at the stars. He can’t just leave her there, it’s not safe and he couldn’t forgive himself if something happened. Too many men would love to take advantage of an opportunity like this.

“Hey,” He shakes her again by the shoulders, “Bessie, wake up. Where do you live?” He enunciates loudly and clearly, but she just mumbles something incoherent, “Where are your friends? Are you alone?”

He cringes at how creepy that last one sounds and feels grateful that nobody is around to hear him and misunderstand the situation. The last thing he needs is getting arrested for sexual harassment when he's trying to be helpful. Public intoxication is a punishable offense, so calling the police isn't exactly an option.

Bessie still doesn’t reply though, opting instead to slump against his shoulder and nuzzle into him – completely dead to the world.

Scott expects to be hit in the nose with the strong smell of booze the second she invades his personal space – probably vodka, since she looks like the kind of girl who would drink fancy cocktails – but instead he only gets hints of strawberry shampoo. It’s… nice, and a little annoying, because whenever he drinks hard liquor he inevitably comes home smelling like it. Although maybe that’s the difference between girls and guys – his friends are more likely to spill their drinks on him in reaction to whatever football match is playing on the TV than hers are.

“Come on, Bessie, I can’t just leave you here,” Scott groans and slides his arm underneath her opposite armpit so that he can stand her up alongside him, intending to start walking towards his apartment again where he can at least get her a glass of water and some acetaminophen.

After a few steps it becomes evident that Bessie is _not_ a sleepwalker, because her feet drag over every single stone – making it nearly impossible to walk at all unless he carries her.

“At this rate we’ll be home by tomorrow afternoon,” Scott grumbles, readjusting his grip on her and trying not to notice the way she nuzzles further into him.

 _A cuddly drunk, great_.

Two bright lights appear from behind them and Scott turns just in time to recognize the familiar white car with a light on top. He sticks out his free arm and flags down the taxi in relief. _Maybe she’ll wake up while we drive._

“Ciao!” The driver greets them as Scott pulls open the passenger door.

“Ciao.” Scott nods, maneuvering the girl into the back seat and trying to ignore the way the driver watches them with blatant curiosity.

As soon as he pulls the door shut the girl immediately snuggles back into him like a koala bear, making him blush and earning a smirk from the driver in the rear view mirror. _This isn’t what it looks like_ , Scott thinks helplessly.

“Dove vuoi andare? Where to, Casanova?”

Scott internally groans at the insinuation and tries again, “Hey, Bessie, where do you live?” 

“The Colosseum,” Bessie replies, and Scott snorts. Whatever she drank has made her completely useless in regards to her own safety.

It’s clear that he isn’t going to get any information out of her, so he begrudgingly gives the man his own address and stays quiet for the rest of the short drive. Studiously ignoring how nice it feels to have her tucked into his side. 

         

“Scott, I see you took Rosa’s advice,” Signore Russo leers at him from his seat in the corner of the courtyard, gesturing towards the girl Scott’s trying desperately to keep from collapsing onto the ground, smoking on what Scott assumes is a different cigarette from that morning, although he can’t be sure that the man has even got up to pee.

“Not at all. Just helping a… friend. She had a bit too much to drink.”

Signore Russo just laughs and mimes something offensive as Scott climbs up the stairs to his apartment, and he has to resist the urge to go back there and yell at his landlord for making such a gross assumption.

“Okay, stay,” Scott props the girl up against the wall by his front door so that he can unlock it, huffing in frustration when she begins to slide backwards, “Whoa there! No! Stay! You’ve gotta help me out here!”

He rearranges her so that she’s sagging in a way that doesn’t spell imminent disaster and then unlocks his door as quickly as he can – barely managing to push it open before he has to catch Bessie on her way back down to the floor.

“Thank you,” She whispers with a sweet sigh after he stops her from getting some sort of head injury, and Scott can’t help the little laugh that bubbles up inside him.  _She's so damn polite_. 

“You’re welcome.”

His studio apartment presents an immediate problem. While it's the perfect place for a young bachelor, it lacks some serious amenities for bringing guests home. Like a second bed.

The old futon that converts into a bed at night is all that he has, and while for him it’s decently comfortable and a good size, it’s not exactly ideal for sharing with a stranger.

Scott closes the door and goes over the options in his head, keeping the girl standing by propping up one of her shoulders with his hand. 

After a minute or two, in which no solution has presented itself, Bessie blinks her eyes open, “Oh. Hello.”

Scott nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden sound of her voice, and turns to see her swaying where she stands and looking at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Hi,” Scott nods, stepping backwards cautiously as he waits to see if she’ll fall over again. When it becomes clear that she's now able to hold herself up, he drops his hand back down to his side and keeps his distance.

“I’ve never been alone with a man before,” She says in that same slurred voice from earlier, speaking mostly to herself, and Scott grimaces. This just got a whole lot weirder. “I don’t seem to mind.”

Unsure how to respond to such an unexpected observation, and sensing that they're working against the clock here to get things figured out before she passes out again, Scott backs away awkwardly and retrieves an old red and black flannel pajama set from the bottom of his closet. Something he had brought from Canada and only worn once and then never again after learning how warm Rome stayed at night.

“Here,” Scott holds out the pajamas, “You can change into these if you want. I imagine they're more comfortable than that dress.”

Instead of taking them though, the girl holds up her arms and turns around, “Will you help me undress please?”

There’s a zipper running down the length of her spine that she clearly wants him to undo, probably because her drunk hands won't be able to reach it properly, but Scott’s not sure what the right protocol is here. Is it rude for him to say no when she asks for help? Is the right thing to say no and leave her to fumble around by herself?

“Uh… I… sure,” He speaks slowly, looking everywhere but at her before swallowing nervously and reaching out to take hold of the zipper with shaking fingers – slowly pulling it down until he can see that she’s not wearing a bra.

He drops his hands and spins around. _Wrong choice. Crossing a line, Moir!_

“That should be far enough. You can reach the rest of it. I’m going to go change in there.”

He escapes to the bathroom with his own pajama pants and an old, holey t-shirt and practically slams the door behind himself.

He changes and brushes his teeth and then sits on top of the toilet seat playing Tetris on his phone and waiting until at least fifteen minutes have passed – trying to give her plenty of time to put on the pajamas and make herself decent.

When the noises from outside the door stop, indicating that she's probably not getting dressed anymore, and enough time has passed, Scott slowly pushes the door open and peeks out.

“Are you done, Bessie?”

There’s no reply, so he steps out of the bathroom and walks slowly towards the living area, only to find that she’s already tucked herself into the blankets and is holding on tightly to one of the pillows – having fallen back asleep.

Scott picks up her discarded dress and sweater from the floor and drapes them over the back of the nearest chair before grabbing some extra pillows and placing them in a row behind her back between them, then carefully lays down next to her on _top_ of the blankets. He’d much rather sleep somewhere else and give her plenty of privacy, but in his tiny studio with a tile floor there _is_ nowhere else. There isn’t even a bathtub that he could turn into a makeshift bed.

His body is stiff and he keeps himself on the absolute edge of the bed to create as much distance as possible.

_If I don't fall on my ass at some point during the night, it will be a miracle._

Someday, years from now, he hopes he'll be able to look back on tonight without mortification and laugh at how weird the whole thing was.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't speak Italian, but I looked up swear words and slang so hopefully they're translated correctly. 
> 
> Andara a puttane = Go to whores and be fucked  
> A fanabla! = Go to Hell  
> Avere un culo così grande = Literally means “to have such a big arse”, but colloquially means “to be very lucky”
> 
> Also, for my American readers, football is soccer. ;)


	3. let's fly way up to the clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~one short day in the eternal city~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have split this chapter up into two, but I didn't want to and I'm the author so that makes me the boss. I hope you don't mind getting a super long update to this story. :D
> 
> These two are young and cute and soft and I love them.

** let's fly way up to the clouds **

****

Having been blessed with a rather active imagination and a creative spirit, Tessa is used to having strange dreams. For example: there was one when she was a kid about a floating jack o’lantern that drove a white Cadillac around her neighborhood, another one when she was a teenager about being Elphaba from _Wicked –_ including the ability to fly _,_ and one two years ago at university about sprouting a blue mermaid tail in the middle of her psych class and swimming away to the Azores.

Now she can add running away in the back of a gardening truck and getting lost in Rome to the list. Another wild, fantastical dream that she almost wishes were real.

There’s sunlight coming from somewhere across the room that's caressing her face with its warm rays and she feels fairly well rested, which is a pleasant change from how she’s felt the past few weeks, and it’s a bit of a shock that Suzanne hasn’t woken her up yet. She could’ve sworn that she was supposed to be at some sort of official breakfast function or something or other by now. Although maybe it isn’t as late in the morning as she thinks it is.

Her nose is pressed up against something soft and warm and she nuzzles against it and tries to fade back into the dream, urging her brain to return to cobblestone streets and cracking buildings full of character instead of waking up and returning to reality. It’s a little firmer than she remembers the pillows on the bed being, but then, she’s slept in so many strange beds the past few weeks she honestly can’t tell one apart from the other.

_I’m just going to keep sleeping until Suzanne forces me to stop_ , she decides with a smug little smile, burrowing a little deeper into the mattress, and that’s when she feels it.

The pillow she has her face pressed against is moving.

_The pillow IS MOVING_.

Tessa’s eyes shoot open and she realizes three things almost simultaneously.

One: this isn’t her room.

Two: this isn’t her bed.

Three: the thing she’s pressed up against is the t-shirt clad back of a man.

_Oh my god, I’m in bed with a MAN,_ Tessa realizes with mounting horror, shrieking as she scoots backwards as far as she can go, tugging the blanket violently up to her shoulders - as if it can shield her from any harm this person surely must want to inflict upon her.  

Unfortunately, the action of pulling on the blankets so hard unbalances the sleeping stranger (who, her brain barely registers, was sleeping on _top_ of the blankets, not under them like her) and sends him toppling off of the bed and onto the hard tile floor below with a loud _smack!_  - immediately waking him up.

_There goes any hope of formulating an escape plan while he sleeps, well done, Tessa_.

“Ow! What the fuck?” He shouts groggily, sitting up and rubbing his bruised forehead and looking adorably rumpled and confused.

_No, Tessa, not adorable. Dangerous! He probably kidnapped you! Get it together_.

"Did you have to push me off the bed?”  He glares up at her, one hand stretched out behind him to prop himself up and the other still rubbing at the spot that had hit the floor – probably making it worse and turning the skin an even brighter shade of red.

She feels sorry about it, even though he’s probably some sort of kidnapping murderer villain who uses his good looks to manipulate unsuspecting princesses into trusting him before he tries to use them for ransom or something, but instead of apologizing she just stares back with wide eyes, pulling the blanket up even higher until it reaches her chin.

“Who are you? Where am I? What’s going on? Is this a kidnap and ransom situation? Because I should warn you, my family does not negotiate with terrorists,” She tries to sound firm, eyes scanning around the scantily furnished room for anything she might feasibly turn into a weapon and coming up empty handed.

_I should have kept up on my self-defense classes like Jordan did,_ she thinks with a pang of regret. Maybe if she’d been more vigilant, she wouldn’t be about to die right now.

“What? No,’ He scoffs, climbing to his feet and spinning the chair at the nearby table around so that he can sit on it – running his fingers through his fluffy brown hair and making it stick up at even crazier angles than it already was as he looks her up and down, “You don’t remember last night at all?”

_Last night? Are there horrible kidnapping details that I’m supposed to remember? Or, heaven forbid, something else that we might have done?_

She can see her dress and sweater hanging over the back of the only other chair in the room, and for the first time she takes a moment to evaluate what she’s wearing.  

A red and black plaid flannel shirt, and – she pats both thighs under the blanket – matching pajama pants. The outfit is definitely not hers, but at least she isn’t naked. Score one positive strike in the self-defense column: successfully managed to keep some clothing on.

Negative strike: the clothing isn’t her own.

“Is this yours?” She asks nervously, biting her bottom lip and tugging at the sleeves and feeling a little bit sick to her stomach. If she isn’t in her own clothes, that means at some point she had to change, and this apartment doesn’t exactly look like it’s full of spare rooms.  

“Yes,” The mystery man stretches his arms out to the side before rubbing the back of his head, the bottom of his shirt raising slightly and revealing a thin strip of skin that Tessa _really_ wishes her brain didn’t decide to notice. She tries to chalk it up to more self-defense ( _evaluate the enemy, determine strengths and weaknesses_ ), and not that her brain is still categorizing him as attractive – despite her protests.

“Did I… did we?” She might as well get straight to the point, even though she’s terrified and praying to every deity she’s ever heard of to _please_ say they didn’t have sex. _Please, please, please_.

“No,” His eyebrows shoot sky high and he’s quick to reassure her, “We didn’t. I found you passed out by the Templi di Apollo. You wouldn’t tell me where you lived, so I brought you here. It wouldn’t have been safe to leave you there. But no, no we definitely didn’t do _that_. No way.”

“Oh,” She murmurs eloquently, dropping her eyes down to the blanket and avoiding his clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable face.

That’s good. That’s the answer that she wanted. Although, it might be nice if he didn’t sound _so_ aghast at the idea. She knows she’s not the most gorgeous woman alive, but she’s always been told that she’s pretty. It’s weird and annoying that she feels a little offended right now.

"That’s good to know. Thank you,” Tessa says finally after a long argument in her head about why she should _not_ be upset that this guy doesn’t find her attractive enough to sleep with, her defenses falling slightly as she lets the blanket slip from her shoulders down around her waist.  

He sits back and relaxes again, smiling warmly at her, “Nothing to thank me for. I was just doing the right thing, Bessie.”

Tessa’s answering smile dies halfway to her cheeks as her nose scrunches up and she shudders, “That’s not my name.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, that’s what you said it was last night.”

He looks confused and kind of boyishly innocent, but Tessa can’t let it go. She doesn’t look like a Bessie, and she definitely never would have given him that name. Not in a million years.

Which is why she folds her arms over her chest, sticks up her nose just slightly, and scowls as she says, “I most certainly said no such thing.”

The stranger seems to respond almost subconsciously to her body language, sitting up straight again and scrunching his eyebrows together, “Yes, you did. I heard you.”

“I did not,” Tessa argues, sitting up a little straighter herself and staring him down, “That is not my name and I never would have said that it was.”

“You seem pretty adamant for a woman who got so drunk last night she passed out on the street and can’t remember anything,” He points out smugly, confident that he’s won the argument, and Tessa can feel her frown growing deeper.

“I wasn’t drunk, and I wouldn’t forget my own name.”

“Ha! Yeah right,” He laughs and rolls his eyes, disbelieving, “Then what is it?”

"It’s Tessa! Not Bessie. Tessa Vi-“ Her voice comes to a sudden halt as she scrambles to calculate the risks and benefits of telling him her last name. He clearly hasn’t recognized her, which is kind of surprising and also a huge relief, but if she tells him her name he might put two and two together and figure it out, and she’s not sure if she wants that. After all, this could still turn into a hostage situation.

“It’s Tessa Smith,” She relaxes, choosing the most mundane surname she can think of and dropping the argument in favor of playing it safe (best not to antagonize her still-possible-kidnapper if she can help it), and holds out her hand.

He reaches out to shake it with a lopsided grin, his eyes still sparkling with mischief, “Nice to meet you, Tessa-not-Bessie Smith. I’m Scott Moir. And you were definitely sloshed last night, but don’t worry, I won’t tell your parents.”

_Did he just wink at me? Do kidnappers usually wink at their victims?_

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Moir, although I would prefer if it were under different circumstances. And no I wasn’t. I’ve never been drunk a day in my life.”

“Please call me Scott. Mr. Moir is my dad. Is that the excuse you’re going with? Because you really need to work on your cover stories. Nobody will believe that one.” He chuckles, standing up and replacing the chair before heading towards the coffee machine that Tessa would’ve sworn was broken only moments ago, based on its appearance.

She climbs out of the bed as well, not wanting to linger any longer in that vulnerable position (standing is much safer, both for defense and escape), and follows him partially across the room while still maintaining a distance, “It’s the truth! I took a sedative.”

“Coffee?” He shoots over his shoulder, already pulling two mugs out of the cupboard.

“Yes, please, thank you,” She replies politely, like she'd been raised to do, “Do you have any creamer?”

“It’s in the fridge. You took a sedative and then wandered around town?” He turns around and sets the mug meant for her down on the table. It’s bright red and has dancing maple leaves around the middle, and she can’t help the giggle that bubbles up inside her and bursts free.

“No, well, technically yes, but I thought the sedative wasn’t working. Let me guess, you’re Canadian?” She takes a seat and points to the design, and Scott grins at her.

“Through and through! And that’s… I’m sorry, but that’s just ridiculous. Who takes a sleeping pill and then goes for a walk?”

“Who picks up strange girls they find asleep and takes them home?” Tessa shoots back, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards as she arches an eyebrow at him. _Only weirdos and creeps do, Mr. Stranger Canadian, that’s who._  

“Touché, but I only take home the drunk, belligerent ones,” He teases, sitting down across from her with his own mug – a chipped orange ceramic thing with ugly brown splotches from being fired in the kiln improperly – and snatching the creamer out of her hand, “Since it’s illegal to be publicly intoxicated and all. I was doing you a favor.”

“I’d never be arrested,” She states confidently, sipping on the coffee and surprised to find that it tastes delicious. As if the Roman police would ever arrest royalty. Suzanne would have her out of the police station before they could even draw up the charges.

“Oh no? You’d just charm the officers, is that it? Tell them that your home is the Colosseum, just like you told me?” Scott rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward slightly and raising an eyebrow at her, and Tessa can feel her cheeks flooding with heat and she ducks her head to hide it.

"Did I actually say that?”

“Yeah,” Scott laughs, “You actually did.”

“Oops. I guess… I’ve just always wanted to see the Colosseum, so I guess it was on my mind,” Tessa explains, running her thumb back and forth over one of the slightly protruding leafs on the mug.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Rome is the place to be if you want to see that particular building,” He jokes, tilting his own face down a bit so that his eyes can meet hers, “Why don’t you?”

“My schedule’s too busy,” Tessa sighs, turning her head to gaze out of the glass door that she can see leads to a small balcony. The sounds of laughing children float inside from the courtyard down below, even through the walls and closed windows, and she’s hit suddenly with an incredibly powerful sense of _longing_.

There’s something so warm and cozy and welcoming about this tiny apartment, and even about the guy sitting across from her with his dark hair and light brown eyes. It’s the kind of warmth that’s been bled out of her life for the past few years, and even though she still isn’t sure about him (although she’ll concede he probably isn’t a kidnapper), she’s loath to leave it behind and return to the structured chaos of her official, political, royal life.

“Too busy to see the Colosseum?” Scott asks, sounding like she's personally offended him, “What are you in Rome for if not to sight-see or appreciate the history?”

“Oh… I’m touring the whole continent. I’m only here for a few days,” Tessa brushes off the question, hoping that her evasive answer will satisfy him, but Scott just looks at her funny – tilting his head and swirling his index finger around the rim of his mug.

“Like a backpacking thing? Are you alone or with friends?”

Well, she’s not alone, but apart from Suzanne she wouldn’t exactly call any of the people that she’s with her _friends_. So she lies, her voice stammering through the answer, “Yes. I’m alone.”

“So you’re traveling alone around Europe, but your schedule is too busy to see the Colosseum?” He sounds skeptical and she can’t blame him. Who comes to Rome and doesn’t take time to see arguably the most famous building there? “That just won’t do,” He shakes his head, picking up both of their empty mugs and depositing them in the sink.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, Tessa Smith, that I can’t allow you to visit Rome and not experience at least some of what it has to offer,” He sticks out his hand and helps her out of her seat, looking like a man on a mission.

“Oh, is that so?” She quirks her eyebrow and puts her hands on her hips, trying not to smile.

"Yes, that is so,” He sasses back at her and then points to her dress, “Get dressed. There’s a bathroom over there that you can use to change and freshen up or whatever, then we’re leaving.”

“And just where are we going?”

“First, a proper breakfast. Then the Colosseum.”

“And then?”

“And then wherever the gods take us,” He grins, already digging around a chest of drawers and pulling out a Henley and jeans for himself, looking up at her expectantly when she doesn’t move, “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m just not sure that this is a good idea,” She admits, twisting the three silver rings inscribed with each Latin word of her family’s motto around her middle finger.

The thing is, she wants to go. 

It’s probably an incredibly stupid and risky idea – she doesn’t even know this guy! – but there’s something so enticing about Scott and his obvious enthusiasm for the city, and, well, she _has_ always wanted to see the Colosseum. Surely a few more hours away from the consulate won’t do any harm.

“Tess,” He starts, and for some reason the soft nickname has her insides turning to butter, even though her siblings must have called her that a million times, “I’d never make you do something you don’t want to do. I’ll take you straight back to your hotel right now if you want me to.”

He speaks earnestly and it's definitely, one hundred percent crazy, but she wants him to show her the Colosseum.

“No!” She blushes at the exclamation, quickly softening her tone into something more casual, “No, I want to go with you. I’ll go change.”

Grabbing her clothes, she escapes to the bathroom – shutting the door behind her with a soft click and sagging back against it.

The last twelve hours have definitely been a wild dream, but it’s one she’s in no hurry to wake up from.

 

\-------

 

“So then Danny, he’s the oldest, literally sits on my head until I confess to stealing the Halloween candy,” Scott says with a laugh, sipping his caffè latte and slipping his phone back into his pocket after showing her a picture of him and his brothers.

“Which you didn’t do,” Tessa adds on, nodding and taking a sip of her own drink. A glass of champagne that she'd ordered just because she could. 

Champagne for breakfast - she'd definitely never be allowed that at home. 

“Right! But my mom grounded me anyway. A whole week just because Danny and Charlie decided feeding all the candy to the neighbor’s goat would be funny,” Scott rips off a piece of his cornetto and pops it into his mouth, slouching backwards into his chair across from her.

“Why didn’t you just tell your mother the truth once you were free?”

“Because I was the youngest and I wanted my brothers to like me. I would have done anything to be included,” He raises one shoulder in a simple shrug, breaking off another bite of his pastry, and Tessa feels an outpouring of sympathy.

“I know that feeling. I’ve always felt like I was living in my siblings’ shadows,” Tessa stabs her fruit salad with her fork, as if lashing out at her breakfast will make everything right. Objectively she knows that it's not her siblings' fault for how she feels - maybe feeling inadequate just goes hand-in-hand with being the youngest - but she can't help it.  

“Oh yeah? Did they sit on your head too?” He grins and Tessa tosses her head back and laughs. The idea of Casey or Kevin or Jordan ever doing something like that – of her parents ever letting them get away with that – is so ridiculously foreign to her, it’s hilarious. No, their methods of manipulation and torture were much more subtle and more inspired by _The Sound of Music_ than anything else. Sometimes at night she can still feel that damn frog from the summer of '04 slithering around her feet in between the sheets.

“No, they’re just all so smart. Casey has his whole future figured out and Kevin has really made a name for himself in the military. And my sister Jordan, don’t even get me started on how many degrees she has. She’s in the middle of getting another one right now.”

“And what about your parents?” Scott asks, pausing mid-sentence to thank their waiter by name for refilling his coffee cup, and she gets momentarily distracted by how genuine he is in his gratitude. It's an unusual sight, compared to the types of people she's normally forced to spend time with.

“What?”

“Your parents. Are they pretty successful too?”

“I guess you could say so. My father… is the CEO of an important company, and I guess you could say my mother works in human resources at the same company.” She’s not sure her answer sounds entirely convincing, given the fact that she’d had to make it up on the spot, but Scott doesn’t seem to notice the way she hesitates and stammers slightly over the words.

“Ah, a family of geniuses. I should have guessed,” Scott smiles softly, and Tessa thinks that he’s trying to give her a compliment, but she really doesn’t deserve to be lumped in with the rest of them in that category.

“They are, but I’m just… me. I don’t have anything figured out.”

“Hey, me neither,” Scott throws his arms out wide and grins, “You’re welcome to wander aimlessly with me.”

“City to city, country to country?” Tessa smiles, biting off a ladylike piece of her own chocolate cornetto and taking care not to let any flakes fall onto her white dress.

“Absolutely. Scott and Tessa take on the world in an attempt to avoid adulthood responsibilities,” Scott moves his hand across the air, as if writing a book title, and Tessa giggles.

Smiling happily and glowing in the morning sun, she could almost believe that what he’s saying could happen. He certainly looks the part of every rom-com or Hollywood classic that she’s ever watched where a boy makes the girl’s dreams come true, and her stomach fills with butterflies. 

“I like it. Promise me I’ll never have to take a meeting or go to breakfast appointments,” Tessa says, fingers twisting in the napkin on her lap as she tries to keep the errant new collection of flying things inside her body under control.

“I swear. No regulated schedules for us. We’ll go any way the wind blows,” He slaps his hand over his heart, dropping his voice in a solemn oath, and Tessa perks up – finishing the lyrics for him.

“Doesn’t really matter to me.”   

Scott grins and gives her an enthusiastic high-five with a resounding _smack_ , chuckling when the elderly couple at the table next to them in the courtyard of La Sinfonia Café, where Scott had brought her for breakfast that morning, gives them nasty looks for being too loud and rambunctious.

“What about your family? What do they do?” Tessa asks in a quieter voice, attempting to appease their neighbors.

“My mom teaches ice skating at our local rink and my dad took over the family farm. Danny and Charlie are both firefighters, so at least they’re doing something useful, unlike me,” The muscles in his jaw flex noticeably as he grits his teeth and Tessa has to fight the sudden urge to reach across the table and take his hand.

“You said you got your degree though, so that’s something!” She pushes back, trying to make him feel better.

His brothers risking their lives to save others  _is_ , admittedly, pretty impressive, but she’s certain that Scott must have his own set of skills and talents. Just because they're different, doesn't make them less.

“Yeah, but then I ditched the life plan to become a delivery boy in Rome. Not exactly something to brag about at the class reunion,” He huffs and it sounds distinctly self-deprecating, and something about the way he digs at the crumbs of his pastry with his fingernail has her rushing to compliment him and try to raise his spirits.

“I’m jealous. I wish I were brave enough to follow my heart like that.”

Scott looks up at her in surprise, “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Backpacking around Europe by yourself is pretty brave.”

“I suppose so, but it’s hardly a permanent thing. Not like what you did. I think it’s amazing that you decided what you wanted and just went after it – no holds barred. Especially when it’s something as intimidating as moving alone to another country.”  

He blushes slightly under her praise, but he perks up too, and Tessa wiggles a little bit with delight as she reaches for her own champagne and takes a generous sip of it. There’s something kind of gratifying about making Scott smile like that.

"Well, if you wanted to make it permanent, I happen to think Rome is a pretty good choice,” He pulls a few euros out of his pocket and places them down on the table in a messy pile that Tessa immediately reaches out and straightens – earning an exaggerated eye-roll from Scott, which she answers by sticking her tongue out at him.

_Suzanne would kill me for that move_ , she thinks with a quiet little chuckle _, so undignified_.  

“So you’ve said,” She points out, goading him a little, “But you haven’t shown it to me yet, so I’m not sure if I believe you.”

“Well then let’s get going!” Scott’s out of his seat in a second, reaching out for her hand and helping her up, “I promised you gladiators, and you shall get gladiators. Come on, my Vespa is parked just up the street a few blocks at my buddy’s house.”

He takes off confidently down the street and she has no choice but to scurry after him if she wants to keep up.        

Tessa revels in the sights and sounds of Rome in the morning as they walk, which are arguably better than Rome in the middle of the night while half-drugged. There are people going to and fro – waving cheerfully at each other - and church bells ringing and brightly colored flowers everywhere and vines that hang over the old walls like waterfalls of green. It’s absolutely amazing and she can’t help but run her hand along the stone surfaces as they go – feeling the need to connect with her surroundings in a physical way. The rough stone grating along her fingertips and making her feel alive.

Her other hand periodically grazes Scott’s as their arms swing in between them, sending pleasant tingles up her arm that Tessa tries not to think about, but also does nothing to prevent. Every once in a while she can see the corner of his mouth tick up when their hands brush, and it sends the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly.

“What ruins are these?” She asks in an attempt to distract herself as they come across a large fenced off area slightly below street level, full of multiple large columns and a few random cats sleeping amongst the stones.

“Largo di Torre Argentina,” Scott replies, “It’s famous for being the place where Caesar uttered, ‘Et tu, Brute?’ before being murdered. Supposedly under that tree over there,” He points to the tallest tree, then drops his hand towards one of the cats, “It’s also an unofficial cat sanctuary.”

“Are you making that up?”

“Of course not! I’m your guide for the day, and I take my job very seriously,” He winks before sauntering over to a pipe sticking out of the wall with water flowing out of it and cupping his hand under the stream – taking a large gulp.

“What are you doing?” The question bursts out of her, and she knows she sounds as horrified as she feels, “You’re going to catch giardia!”

“Relax, Tess,” Scott chuckles, shaking the droplets off his wet hand before wiping the rest of it off on his pants, “You can drink out of that fountain.”

“No way. That can’t be sanitary.”

“I’m serious. There are drinking fountains constantly flowing all around Rome. The big ones are called nasoni and the little ones are called fontanelles and the water comes from the ancient aqueduct systems that carry water down from the mountains. It’s always cold, and it always tastes amazing. It’s totally safe. Come try it.”  

He beckons her over and Tessa inches towards him, eyeing the flowing water as if it’s going to suddenly turn brown or creatures are going to crawl out of the spigot.

“It’s not going to kill you, come on,” Scott stands back so that she can bend over and stick her hand under the water.

He’s right – it is deliciously cold – and it certainly _feels_ fresh, as much as water can feel like anything. So with one last look up at him for reassurance, Tessa cups her hand and collects a sizable portion and takes a tentative sip.

The water that hits her tongue is as cold and fresh as promised and tastes simply divine – the perfect remedy to the Roman sun that’s already making the hair at the nape of her neck curl – and Tessa drinks the rest of water in her hand with a happy little moan.

“See? I told-“

“Don’t say it. You were right,” She holds up her wet hand, flicking her fingers at him and spraying him with droplets of water that he wipes off his face with a playful grin.

“Oh, game on, Tess,” Scott cups his hand under the water again and Tessa squeals as he throws the whole thing at her – missing her face but soaking her calves as she runs away.

“No! I’ll be nice, I swear! I won’t do it again,” She gasps, holding both hands up to stop him from throwing another cup of water at her. Although most of it had spilled out as he chased her down the sidewalk.

“Hmmm,” He looks at her skeptically, glancing back and forth between her face and the water in his hand, before slowly letting the rest of it fall onto the cobblestones, “I’ll have mercy on you now, but I’ve got my eye on you, Tess.”       

 

\-------

 

“Did you know most gladiators only lived to their mid-twenties? And that if a gladiator was seriously wounded, sometimes his fate was decided by the audience?” Scott asks as they walk around the upper level of the Colosseum.

When they’d first arrived, after he’d forced her to endure a terrifying ride on the back of his Vespa (he’d been laughing while she held on for dear life as he zipped in and out of lanes of traffic like he’d never heard of road safety before), Tessa had been nervous at the sight of the long line wrapping around the iconic building, but Scott had just winked at her and waltzed right up to one of the security guards who fist-bumped him and let him inside a secret side gate.

("It's nice to make friends with people who work at the monuments," he'd explained, answering her shocked face.)

Ever since walking inside he’d been regaling her with random historical facts, apparently taking his self-appointed tour guide position very seriously. But she doesn't mind. Everything he says is interesting and the way he says it - talking with his full body as if he can't contain his own excitement - is infectious. 

“Is that true?” She asks, staring at one of the marble slabs on display with figures of warriors carved into it – not having to try too hard to imagine what it must have been like to have your fate decided by other people.  

“Yep. They would use hand gestures to determine if the man would be killed or spared. If the crowd decided death, the winner would either stab him between the shoulder-blades or through the neck and into the heart.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s history.”

“It’s still messed up. I can’t imagine watching people fight to the death for entertainment.”

Scott steps up next to one of the statues that’s still mostly intact and mimics the pose – one hand held high in the air with an imaginary sword and the other on his hip, his face lifted up in a proud expression.

Tessa laughs, because it’s ridiculous and obvious that he wants her to (and he grins proudly, his nose scrunching up adorably, when she does), but she also kind of thinks he looks hot like that. 

_Maybe I can understand why women would come watch the gladiators, after all_.

“Well, you know, anything to please the emperor,” Scott shrugs leading her up a staircase to a better viewpoint over the arena, “Some historians believe gladiator fights were actually crude blood sacrifices to honor deceased royalty. Julius Caesar, for example, staged fights between hundreds of gladiators after his father and daughter died.”

“So you’re saying it’s their fault.”

“Historically speaking, can’t most of the world’s problems be blamed on monarchies?” Scott jokes, not noticing the way Tessa has gone stiff by his side, “I mean, all it takes is one insane or power hungry king and whoops, there goes thousands of lives.”

“I suppose that’s true,” She hesitates, struggling with her desire to defend her family and her need for anonymity, “Historically speaking.”

“Also, did you know that water could be diverted into the Colosseum to provide viewers mock sea battles complete with replica boats and weaponry? That’s amazing, eh?” Scott moves on, clearly unaware that he’s made her uncomfortable, and Tessa shakes it off.

He didn’t mean it personally, because he doesn’t know who she is, so there’s no point in arguing with him and ruining their morning. Lots of people don’t like monarchies, so what if a boy she just met is among them? Even if the revelation leaves a bitter taste in her mouth and has her feeling more disappointed than she’d care to admit.

“Yes,” She agrees with him, trying to move on and think about something other than why his opinion matters to her, “It’s amazing how smart people were back then and the things they could engineer. I can imagine what it must have looked like from up here, watching all of those events unfold.”

“A day at the Colosseum. Like a day at the theatre for the ancient Romans,” Scott hums happily, and Tessa places her hand gently on his forearm.

“It’s wonderful. Thank you so much for bringing me here.”

She meant for it to be a quick touch, but her thumb rubs back and forth along his skin of its own accord – so much softer than she’d expected – and Scott’s eyes seems to have turned to liquid honey as he looks down at her.

“I’m glad I could check one thing off of your bucket list. Now I can feel slightly less embarrassed for you and your Roman experience.”

“You were right. It would have been a shame to miss this. I wish they still did shows here, so that we could get a taste of what it would have been like.”

Tessa forces herself to let go of his arm, certain that she imagined the flash of disappointment in his eyes, and rests her arms on the stone wall, leaning over it slightly so that she can look down on the levels below – watching all the tourists milling about and following guides with little flags or reading from their books.

_Is this what it feels like? To be normal? To go on a… date?_          

"Shows like concerts?" Scott asks, tilting his head, and Tessa can sense the cogs spinning in his brain. 

"I guess so," She shrugs, wondering what he's up to. 

“Have you ever seen such a beautiful night?” Scott takes her by surprise by singing quietly, slightly off-key but with a level of enthusiasm that easily makes up for it, and Tessa can’t help but giggle and sing the next line – although not without checking first in both directions to make sure that there’s nobody around who can hear her.  

“I could almost kiss the stars, they’re shining so bright.”

Scott looks delighted that she’s playing along and keeps the song going, “When I see you smiling I go, oh, oh, oh,” He gestures with a flick of his head for her to continue, if she can, and Tessa stands up a little straighter.

Never let it be said that Tessa Virtue backs down from a challenge.  

“I would never want to miss this.”

“Cause in my heart, I know what this is.”

"This is what dreams are made of,” They sing the last line together and Scott tilts his head back with a laugh, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a quick side hug that’s over almost before it begins.

_I want him to kiss me_ , the ridiculous thought pops up in her head and Tessa takes a step backwards, hastily putting some space between them before she can do something stupid like act on the impulse. 

“How do you know that song?” She asks curiously, shoving any thoughts of kissing away deep into the recesses of her brain, squinting up at him and noticing the flecks of green the sun brings out in his eyes.

Scott groans, leaning back against the stone wall and propping his elbows up behind himself for support, “My cousin Cara loved that movie. She’d make me watch it with her almost every weekend the summer it came out. It was torture.”

“So torturous that you memorized it?” She smiles slyly, nudging his ribs with her elbow, and Scott gapes at her – looking flabbergasted and hurrying to defend his manly honor.

“I… I… no comment!”

He sticks his nose high up in the air and Tessa wags her finger at him in triumph, “That’s what I thought. You loved it.”

“Look, who didn’t have a crush on Lizzie McGuire? I simply fell victim to the same charms every other straight boy my age did. What about you, how do you know that song?”

“I watched it all summer too, when I wasn’t being tutored in French. I think your cousin Cara and I would get along.”

Scott’s lips quirk up in a small smile and his eyes seem to soften around the edges as he looks at her with something that could almost be called affection, “Yeah, I think you would too.”

They smile at each other like idiots for a second before Scott finally asks, “Do you need to head back now? Should I take you to your hotel?”

“You know,” Tessa says slowly, glancing back down at the ruins covering the arena floor and then lifting her eyes up to meet his, “I could probably spare a few more hours. What else should I be checking off of my bucket list?”

Scott’s whole face lights up as if she’s just given him a gift and made his day, and she feels giddy at the prospect of spending a little more time with him.

She knows she’s on borrowed time. Suzanne probably has the entire consulate on lockdown and every member of the secret service out combing the city for her (protocol would dictate they don’t inform the media that she’s missing for at least forty-eight hours, so as not to cause any panic or risk her safety by encouraging the wrong sort of people to look for her), but she doesn’t care.

For the first time in her life she’s choosing to do something just for her. Just because _she_ wants to. And it feels absolutely glorious.

Scott leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “Well, first things first, tell me Tessa, are you a liar?”

“Excuse me?” Her heart stops cold and all of her bold and joyful feelings vanish instantly.

_Does he know? How could he know? Has he been lying about not knowing me this whole time?_

She’s just starting to panic in earnest when Scott laughs and playfully tugs a strand of her hair – a motion that she could really categorize as more of a caress, if she dared to.

“We’re going to the Santa Maria in Cosmedin church and I’ll explain everything.”

 

Scott zooms down the road on his Vespa, and Tessa’s no more used to it the second time than she was the first – squeezing her arms around his ribs with a grip that will probably leave bruises and screwing her eyes shut tight each time they swerve around a little Fiat or take a sharp turn around a corner.

It’s not a long ride, thank heavens, and he points out the Circus Maximus as they drive past – the arena where Tessa knows they used to have chariot races hundreds of years ago - which distracts her momentarily from his driving. It’s all green and grown over now, but she’s seen Ben Hur and she can imagine how thrilling it would have been to sit on the little hill above the track and watch.

He finally putters to a stop in front of a brown church with a tall tower that has open windows carved out of each layer and kicks the little stand out underneath the bike that keeps it upright when parked – waiting patiently for Tessa to dismount before standing up and putting her helmet back inside the seat.

"We’re going inside there,” He points at the church and takes off across the street, making sure that she stays close to his side.

“Is it a special church for liars?” Tessa attempts to joke, swallowing around the lump of anxiety that seems to have lodged inside her throat on the drive over. She’s never been a particularly religious person, even though _officially_ her family is Catholic (as the royal family has always been), but supernatural things are another matter entirely.

“Not exactly. It’s not the church itself we’re here to see. Follow me.”

Scott leads her through the church without stopping and out through one of its doors into a gated courtyard.

“What on earth is that?” Tessa asks, laughing a little as she points to the monstrous round face on the wall opposite them. The giant stone slab looks permanently surprised – as if it had been uprooted and placed outside on the stone patio of the church without any warning and still hadn’t gotten comfortable in its new position.

“This, my dear Miss Smith, is the Bocca della Verità. The Mouth of Truth. You have to stick your hand inside the mouth. If you’re truthful, you’ll be fine, but if you’re a liar, then your hand will be bitten off.” He smirks, reaching out and tickling her ribs, and Tessa laughs a little spasmodically as she swats his hand away.  

“That’s an awful myth.”

“Who says it’s a myth?” He waggles his eyebrows at her and grins evilly, “Go on, put your hand in there.”

Tessa reaches slowly, biting her bottom lip almost painfully as she barely sticks her finger tips inside before pulling her hand back sharply.

“Let’s see you do it,” She commands, holding her hand to her chest protectively and attempting to take the focus off of herself.  

“Sure,” He shrugs, sliding his hand inside the mouth inch by inch until the whole thing’s inside. He looks up and smiles at her, “Huh, noth-ARGH!”

The scream that leaves Tessa’s body is one she’ll be embarrassed to remember for years to come as she lurches forward and grabs Scott’s arm, tugging it out of the mouth in a violent attempt to rescue him, only for him to start laughing. A great, big full-bodied laugh with his head thrown back and one hand on his chest.

“You’re terrible, Scott Moir!” She slaps his arm and shoves him backwards, but he still laughs even as he stumbles.

“Sorry, sorry,” He reaches out for her and pulls her into a two-armed hug, and Tessa tries to get her racing heart back under control as her nose smooshes against his chest (although now, wrapped up in his arms, it’s started to race for an entirely different reason), “It was just a joke, T.”

“You owe me the biggest bowl of gelato ever.” She mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, trying and failing not to notice his muscles and how nice he smells. Sort of citrusy and homey and warm.

“Deal. I know just the place.”

They return to his Vespa and Scott gestures towards it with the keys, “Do you want to drive this time?”

“What?” Tessa practically shouts, taking a huge step back, “No way.”

“Why not? I bet you’d be great at it.”

“I don’t have my regular driver’s license,” She admits with no small amount of shame, it’s not like she’s ever needed one, since her family has a whole fleet of employed drivers to take them places, but still. Add it to the list of teenage rites of passage that she missed out on. “There’s no way I could drive that.”

“Well you’re in luck actually, because driving a Vespa is nothing like driving a car. Come on, hop on and I’ll teach you. If you hate it, you can stop.”

“How good is your insurance?”

“Complete shit,” Scott grins at her and hands her the keys and Tessa has no choice but to carefully sit down on the seat – tightening her grip on the handles until her knuckles turn white.

“You have to put the key in first and start it,” Scott gently reminds her, trying not to laugh, and Tessa glares at him.

“I know that.”

She sticks the key in the ignition and follows his instructions for starting it, grinning proudly when she gets it rumbling on her first try.

“Atta girl. Okay, now this is your clutch, this is your gas, and this is your brake,” Scott points to each thing individually and makes sure she nods at each one before moving to the next, taking his time with the lesson, “You’ll want to ease off carefully-“

Tessa lets go of the gas by accident and the Vespa lurches forward and she screams as she nearly runs straight into a giant potted plant before finding the brake.

“I can’t do this!” She moans, fingers cramping around the brake handle – terrified of the machine going rogue again.

“Yes, you can!” Scott climbs onto the seat behind her and it’s his turn now to link his fingers together over her waist – which serves as a suitable distraction for about half a second before Tessa’s forced to continue paying attention to what she’s doing.

“Just take it slow and I’ll give you directions to our next stop, okay? I know you can do this.”

“Okay,” She replies in a shaky voice and Scott seems to hesitate for a moment before moving his hands so that they’re resting over hers on the handles.

Tessa's pretty certain having him pressed up against her back and his arms around her like that isn't going to help her concentration  _at all_ , but she isn't about to tell him that.

“Here, I’ll do it with you until you get the hang of it. Ease up gently on the gas.”

He moves with his fingers with hers this time, helping her maintain control over the bike, and they slowly start making their way down the street.

It turns out that Scott is actually quite an excellent teacher – never criticizing her lurching advances or sudden, jerky stops – and he whispers encouraging words in her ear in between giving her directions that serve to both make her feel more confident, and send shivers down her spine.

“Okay, park here,” He points to a little slot in between too old, original red Mini-Coopers, using his feet to help her slowly guide the Vespa into place and putting the kickstand down.

When she cuts the engine he hops off and pulls her up into another huge hug, “See? I knew you’d be a natural. How did that feel?”

“Amazing,” Tessa replies with a blush as Scott releases her, not entirely referring to the Vespa ride, “Where are we?”

“This is Venchi Cioccolato e Gelato. They make some of the best gelato you’ll ever eat,” Scott gestures towards the light-colored stone building with big glass windows that have _Venchi_ written across the top in stylish white lettering, “You can pick whatever you want, my treat.”

 

They take their cups of gelato, traditional lemon for Scott and one scoop of chocolate, one scoop of raspberry for Tessa, and head over towards the overly-crowded Spanish Steps - managing to find an empty corner where they can sit down and look out over the multicolored buildings and the large fountain at the bottom of the stairs as they eat.

"This is beautiful, even with all the people. I love how uniquely shaped that fountain is,” Tessa nods towards the oblong fountain with its light turquoise water. A few little kids are splashing around inside and fishing for coins and Tessa wishes for a moment that she could join them.

“It is beautiful,” Scott agrees, humming happily around a spoonful of his tasty frozen treat and puckering his face slightly when the sour flavor hits his tongue, “It kind of looks like a ship.”

“Do you think I could sail away on it?” Tessa muses, and Scott looks over at her and cocks his head. 

“Where would you go?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but her usual response of _anywhere but here_ dies in her throat at the realization that, for once, she’s actually exactly where she wants to be, “Nowhere. I’d stay right here.”

A slow smile spreads across Scott’s face and he opens his mouth to reply, when suddenly there’s a loud voice from above them.  

“Vuoi comprare un fiore, signorina?” An older man suddenly appears as if out of nowhere, shoving a bouquet of red roses into her face and making Tessa flinch – hitting the back of her head on the stone behind her with a thunk.

“Ouch!” She rubs at the spot with the hand not currently holding her gelato and Scott places a protective hand on her knee, leaning his whole body towards her.

“No,” Scott waves the man off, but he’s persistent – keeping the flowers in her face and almost demanding that they buy one, ignoring all of Scott's commands for him to leave.

“Uno! Un fiore!” Scott shouts in annoyance, handing the man a single euro and taking one rose, waving him off again and making sure he’s left for good before twisting around to face her, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. He just surprised me,” Tessa rubs her head one more time for good measure before squeezing Scott’s arm to reassure him that she's alright.    

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I can usually see those guys coming and avoid them, but I guess I was a little distracted,” He blushes for some reason, dropping his gaze from her face down to where his hand is still resting on her knee, and Tessa feels a swooping sensation in her stomach. As if all her organs had suddenly sprouted wings.

“That’s okay. He was quite… pushy,” She doesn’t want to say something rude, but the man had been kind of intimidating. She's very grateful that she wasn’t trying to deal with him alone.

“You just can’t be afraid to push back against the vendors. Here,” Scott hands her the rose, which is actually quite beautiful despite its origins, “For you, m’lady.”

"Thank you, kind sir,” Tessa giggles, then impulsively leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.

It’s incredibly bold of her, especially since she’s only known him for a day, but he’s been so sweet and wonderful – looking out for her, acting as her guide, teaching her how to drive a Vespa. It’s already easily been one of the best days of her life and it isn’t even over yet.

"Wow, if that’s what one rose gets me I wish I’d bought the whole bouquet,” Scott says with a quiet sort of wonder, his lips quirking up as he places his fingers gently over the spot where she’d kissed him, and Tessa laughs.

“Easy there, tiger. The whole bouquet might have only gotten you a high five. You never know.”

“I’ll take one of those too,” He grins, holding up his hand, and Tessa laughs again as she slaps it with her own – laughing harder still when he wraps his fingers around her hand and doesn’t let it go, instead tugging it up to his mouth and kissing her knuckles.

“Come on. We’ve still got the rest of the afternoon ahead of us,” He pulls her up and waits while she adjusts her dress, making sure that the skirt isn’t folded funny anywhere and doesn’t have anything on it, before nodding at him.

“Where to next?”

“Right over there,” He points to the corner of the square where a few artists have set up their booths, “We’re gonna get our portrait drawn, T.”

Another nickname, and this time it’s something nobody else has ever called her. She loves it. Loves the casual _intimacy_ of it. And she wants to hear him say it again.  

“Is that a necessary part of the Roman experience?”

“Absolutely,” Scott reaches for her hand, giving her the chance to refuse if she wants to, but she simply smiles at him and laces her fingers in his – letting him lead her down the steps and over towards one of the artists.

“Take your pick. Traditional or cartoon?”

Tessa looks up and down the display in front of her, comparing and contrasting the two styles, before finally deciding against the cartoon. She has enough insecurities about her looks as it is, she doesn’t need the artist enhancing her nose or her chin and making them worse.

“Let’s do traditional.”

Scott nods and hands over the money, both of them taking their seats across from where the artist, a man with a wide-brimmed floppy brown hat and swirly mustache straight out of a movie named Sebastian.

“You’re a beautiful couple,” He says, wasting no time getting to work moving his pencils across the canvas – his sharp blue eyes never seeming to leave their faces.

“Oh, we’re not a couple,” Scott corrects him, even as his fingers tighten slightly around Tessa’s where they’re still linked together.

Sebastian seems to be laughing at them with his eyes as he replies, “No?” A tiny smile twitching at the corners of his mouth that has Tessa’s cheeks turning a little pink.

“Just friends,” Scott explains, “We only met last night.”

“Ah, blossoming romance,” The man nods, finally looking at his canvas and humming to himself – making an adjustment, but apparently pleased at his progress.

Tessa expects Scott to deny that too, but when she looks up at him she finds him already looking at her as if to say, _well? Is that what we are?_ with hopeful eyes.

Her stomach doing flip-flops, Tessa turns back towards the artist and shyly answers, “Maybe.”

_Is this crazy? Am I insane for already wanting this to turn into something more?_

For all her superstitious tendencies, she's never really believed in love at first sight, but the more time she spends with Scott, the more she wonders:  _what if?_

“I’m done,” The artist spins his easel around with a flourish, and Tessa’s mouth drops open with a gasp.

In hardly any time at all he’d managed to capture their images perfectly in gorgeous shades of black and white, but it’s not only the skill that has her mouth hanging open – it’s the expression on their faces.

Instead of doing simple headshots of them smiling, he’d done something more candid. A still-frame of Tessa gazing adoringly up at Scott and him smiling softly back at her with those wrinkles around his eyes that she’s already beginning to love because it means he's _really_ happy.

“Wow,” Scott breathes next to her, carefully picking up the canvas and tilting it towards the light to get a better look, “I think you should charge more.”

Sebastian laughs and shakes his head, “I’m glad you like it. Enjoy your romance while it lasts, my friends. Treasure it.”

“What do you think, T?” Scott nearly whispers as they walk away, and Tessa takes his hand again as she reaches out and caresses the edge of the drawing.

"I love it.”

Scott stops walking, forcing her to stop moving too, and looks down at her, “The Trevi Fountain’s not far from here. Do you want to go there next?”

“I’d love that,” She replies softly, “Lead the way.”

They return to the Vespa to safely store the painting before heading towards the fountain - winding down through narrow roads hand-in-hand until they come out into the square where the fountain is located. Unlike in the movies, the square is actually not very large and the fountain is surrounded by orange, tan, and peachy colored buildings encroaching on its space.

But the fountain itself is absolutely beautiful. A majestic stone masterpiece with stunningly blue water that sparkles from all the coins littering the basin.

“So what’s the history about this one?” She asks, cocking her head and waiting for Scott to regale her with more facts.

“I actually don’t know much about the history, but that’s not nearly as important as the legends.”

“Is that right? I know there’s something about tossing a coin in to guarantee that you’ll return to Rome,” Tessa looks down at all the coins and imagines all the different kinds of people that must have thrown them in, and wonders if any of those people have actually returned. 

“Yeah, that’s the first legend. The second one was the basis for the old movie _Three Coins in the Fountain_. You throw three coins in, instead of the just one. The first coin guarantees your return to Rome, the second will ensure a new romance, and the third will ensure marriage.”

“Do you have that many coins?” Tessa looks over at him hopefully. 

Scott digs around in his jeans for a second before pulling out a handful of coins, some lint, and a punch card for a local sandwich shop.

“Voila!” He hands her three of them and Tessa grins and steps closer to the fountain, before turning around so that her back is facing it.

“Are you ready?”

“Hang on, we have to document this,” Scott pulls out his phone and holds it up high, getting ready to snap some pictures, “Okay, go!”

Tessa tosses the coins high over her head, sending them soaring into the water where they splash with a joyful sound, and she spins around just in time to see them sinking to the bottom.

_I hope they work_ , she silently wishes, looking up at the sculpture of Oceanus and praying that he’s feeling generous with his miracles today.

“My turn. Here, T,” Scott hands her his phone, already open to the camera app, and closes his fist around his own three coins, “Ready?”

“I’m ready. Go!” She snaps a serious of quick photos as Scott throws his own batch of coins backwards into the fountain, one of them bouncing wildly off of one of the statues thanks to the force of his throw – sending them both into fits of laughter.

“Does that still count?” Scott chuckles, running his hand through his hair, “Or did I just offend an ancient god?”

“I’m sure it counts. Hopefully he’ll just take it as a sign of enthusiasm,” Tessa teases, and Scott throws his arm around her shoulders with a heavy sigh.

“I sure hope so, or that was a waste of three euros.”

She brings one of her arms up to circle around his ribs and stares at the sculptures behind the water, enjoying the way the late afternoon sun reflects off of the marble in front of her and makes it shine, and they enjoy just being quiet for a moment before Scott speaks.

“Tess, I know you’ve already spent the whole day with me and there’s probably way more important things you could be doing, so feel free to say no if you don't want to, but my neighbors are all having a big party tonight and I would be honored if you would go with me.”

Tessa's heart seems to stop and then pick up again double-time.

He wants her to go to a party with him. A party with is friends. Maybe a party like the one she'd heard the night before and longed to be a part of. It feels like fate is smiling down on her.

“Will there be music?”

“Yes,” He nods. 

“And dancing?”

“Yes, and the best food you’ve ever eaten, I swear.” He licks his lips as though the food's already right in front of him, and Tessa laughs. 

“Then yes, I would love to go to the party with you.”

Scott's face breaks out into a huge grin and Tessa returns it with a warm smile of her own.

She's come this far. What difference could a few more hours make? 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers!
> 
> If there are errors, it's because I edited this at 3am. I'll have to fix it later when I'm not half-asleep ;)


	4. on this lovely bella notte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Tessa attend his neighborhood party, romance ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter definitely dips into an E rating, which wasn't exactly planned but I feel like we all need it right now. ;)

** on this lovely bella notte **

****

“I think I’m pretty good at this,” Tessa eases the Vespa into its parking spot near Scott’s building with much more grace than she’d done at the gelato shop earlier, beaming at him over her shoulder, “Soon I’ll be racing circles around you.”

“I have no doubt that that’s true,” Scott chuckles, swinging his leg over the back of the scooter and helping her set the kickstand properly.

Tessa stumbles on a loose cobblestone as she dismounts, falling straight into his arms with a little scream that dissolves into laughter, and Scott's own laughter dies in his throat when he gets briefly distracted by the way the evening sun gives her hair mahogany highlights and the pleasant weight of her against his body. 

_She really is beautiful_. 

“So what is the occasion?” Tessa asks happily as she rights herself and then takes his outstretched hand without hesitation, making Scott’s heart burst into confetti inside his chest.

It’s been a perfect day. Magical, almost. As if Remus and Romulus heard his lonely howl and sent him this angel from above. A cheesy metaphor, but one that feels apt every time he looks over to see her bright green eyes shining with happiness or her freckle-kissed skin scrunching around her smile as she laughs at one of his dumb jokes.

“It’s Signor Bianchi’s ninetieth birthday today. He and his wife live in the apartment across from mine. I guess they’re sort of the unofficial grandparents for the whole neighborhood,” Scott swings the gate open into the courtyard, leading Tessa in after him, “They’re both incredibly nice. You’ll love them.”

“I’m sure I will,” Tessa grins, pulling his arm in closer.

The courtyard is awash with color now that the decorations have been set up – streamers, fairy lights, a row of tables, and a scattering of mismatched chairs – and space has been set aside for the inevitable singing and dancing that will follow eating. If they’re lucky, Scott hopes Signor Bianchi will be persuaded to play his accordion.

"Bonjour, Scott,” His French neighbor, Madeleine, sets down a large tray of zeppole before waving at them. Her young son, Francois, toddles after her, dragging his stuffed teddy bear and rubbing his eyes, and she scoops him up and walks over towards him and Tessa. “Who is your friend?”

“Madeleine, this is Tessa Smith. Tessa, this is Madeleine Brodeur,” Scott introduces them, his eyes lingering probably a bit too long on Tessa as she takes the other woman’s hand with a warm smile. He can feel Madeleine looking back and forth between them with blatant curiosity, but he doesn’t really care about the obvious questions brewing behind her eyes. He doesn't have an answer for them anyway. All he knows is that something special is happening here, and he wants to see where it goes.

“Bonjour Madeleine, ravie de vous rencontrer,” Tessa rattles off in perfect French, showcasing her fluency. Even though she’d mentioned to him that she’d been tutored in French since a young age, Scott still finds it impressive (and also a little arousing, if he’s being honest).

“Ah! C’est bon! You speak French?” Madeleine asks, pleasantly surprised.

“Oui,” Tessa nods, “I was taught both French and English as a child.”

“Magnifique!” Madeleine adjusts Francois, whose little blonde head has landed solidly on her shoulder while his eyes droop, so that she can hold him better with one arm, and peers a little closer, “I must say, you look rather familiar, Tessa, is it possible we’ve met before?”

Tessa’s hand tightens infinitesimally around his fingers and her smile becomes a little less genuine (turning into what he’d call a “customer service” smile), “I don’t think so. I guess I just have one of those faces.”

“Maybe that’s it. You probably look like an actress I’ve seen in a magazine somewhere. You are very pretty,” Her eyes drag slyly over to Scott and she smirks, “How do you know Scott?”

Tessa ducks her head at the compliment, but when she looks back up at him her real smile is back – the one that lights up her eyes and does funny things to his insides and makes his brain go mushy and fills him with the desire to do ridiculous things just to make her laugh, “We met this morning. He’s been showing me the city.”

“Well, no, technically we met last night,” Scott corrects her, nudging her arm with his, “She just doesn’t remember it.”

“There was a mistake with my sleeping pill,” Tessa rushes to explain just as Scott realizes how that sentence sounded – grimacing at his own poor choice of words - but Madeleine just cocks her head in confusion, “And I went for a walk and Scott found me and made sure I was safe.”

“Ah,” Madeleine raises her chin up slightly, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards, “That sounds like Scott. He’s buono come il pane, as they say around here.”

"Good as bread?” Tessa furrows her brow and Scott chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to explain.

“It’s how they describe someone with a heart of gold, or just someone who is a good person.”

Tessa's smile softens into something warm and tender and she seems to almost lean in closer – as if she wants to kiss him, or for him to kiss her. Scott really doesn’t care which one it is, as long as the outcome is the same. Her lips have been tempting him ever since she nibbled on them while they talked over their morning coffee.

Next to them Madeleine pointedly clears her throat, and he realizes that he and Tessa haven’t looked away from each other for the past couple of minutes and he completely missed the question she asked him. The thought makes him blush. He hadn’t meant to completely shut Madeleine out of the conversation like that, he just couldn’t help getting sucked into the connection that he and Tessa seem to almost instinctually share. It’s intoxicating.

"What did you say, Madeleine?" 

"I said that our sink is having problems draining again. Do you think you'd have time to look at it this week?" 

"Absolutely," Scott replies, but anything else he was going to say gets lost in a chorus of his name on repeat.

“Scott! Scott! Scott! Scott!” Paolo comes running over to them, his dark hair flopping wildly on his head and his favorite oversized Messi jersey hanging off of one shoulder, “Mama says if you don’t come help her with dinner she’s going to make you do all the laundry for the next month.”

Scott laughs and ruffles the boy’s hair, “Alright, we’re coming.” The last thing he'd ever dare do is upset Rosa.

“We?” Paolo looks around at all three adults, his eyes finally settling on Tessa and his brow furrowing slightly, “Is Luca coming?”

“Nope. No Luca tonight. Paolo, this is my friend Tessa,” Scott explains, making a mental note to tell Luca that he needs to stop by more often. Ever since he'd played a soccer match with them, Paolo had been itching for him to come back and teach him more fancy footwork.  

“You have a _girl_ friend?” Paolo’s brown eyes go as wide as saucers and Tessa giggles awkwardly and reaches out to shake his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Paolo, I'm Tessa." 

Scott splutters for a moment and then corrects him, “I have a friend who is a girl, yes." He doesn't want to scare Tessa off with that kind of talk a day into their relationship (or whatever he’s supposed to call this _thing_ between them that is definitely more than friendship).

“Schifoso,” Paolo mutters, scrunching up his nose and turning to run join his friends in whatever game they're playing, and Tessa and Scott both laugh.

“I’m sorry. He’s at that stage where all girls are gross,” Scott explains, and Tessa laughs again.

"I get it. I’m not offended. As long as _you_ don’t think I’m schifoso,” She grins, propping her head up on his shoulder and cocking it to the side as she waits for an answer.

“No. You’re the opposite of gross.”

“Thank you. What high praise,” Tessa laughs again and Scott can feel his cheeks getting warm.

“You know what I mean,” He rolls his eyes and pinches her lightly on the shoulder, grinning when she slaps his hand away. 

“Yeah, I do,” Tessa squeezes her fingers around his between them, “You’re the opposite of gross, too.”

“Thanks,” Scott laughs and shakes his head affectionately, waving a cheerful farewell to Madeleine and pulling Tessa towards Rosa’s bright red front door, “Come on. Before I get stuck with laundry duties.”

“Buonasera, Rosa,” Scott greets the older woman with a kiss on each cheek as soon as they walk through the door, “Paolo said you needed help, and I am here to provide. This is my… Tessa. This is Tessa.”  

“It’s nice to meet you, Rosa,” Tessa greets her, standing a little straighter under the Rosa’s blatantly appraising stare, and Scott can sense an inquisition coming on so he jumps in before Rosa can get the words out.

“We didn’t eat lunch so we’re starving and eager to help.”

“You didn’t feed this poor girl lunch?” Rosa asks aghast, the distraction working and her voice full of accusation and disappointment, as if Scott’s committed a crime worthy of life imprisonment.

“I was showing her Rome!” He shoots back, instantly defensive, “We ate gelato!”

He never should have brought up food with her. Rosa is the type to curse out McDonald's or anything similar whenever they walk past for being "uninspired, tasteless, and a plague on society." She takes the subject very seriously. 

“How can you show her Rome and forget the food? Have you lived here a day? Gelato does not count,” Rosa tsks at him, shaking her head as she swats him with her tea towel and apologizing to Tessa.

“He has mistreated you,” Rosa glares at him once more for good measure before taking Tessa’s hand and patting it sympathetically, "I am sorry you have not had a proper introduction to Italy."

“Oh, no!” Tessa rushes to correct her, “No, we’ve had a lovely day. He’s-it’s been perfect.”

Scott smiles and puffs up a little at Tessa's enthusiastic defense and places his hand on her lower back, “Why would I show her something sub-par when I knew it could never compare to your food tonight, Rosa?”

_When in trouble, always go for flattery_.

“Ammaliatore,” Rosa whips his leg with her towel again, rolling her eyes and not falling for any of his crap, and Scott laughs, “I'm just glad you followed my advice and brought a girl. You can stir the noodles. Do _not_ let anything burn. Tessa, you can start cutting the tomatoes.”

"Oh,” Tessa’s eyes go just about as wide as possible and she looks almost green, “Me? You want me to help cook?”

“You don’t want to help?” Rosa looks up sharply, her welcoming smile quickly souring into disapproval. Rosa likes practically everybody, but she has no patience for selfishness or sloth.

“No! No of course I do. I just… where should I start?” Tessa scrunches her eyebrows together and rolls up her sleeves, looking grim and determined and ready to go into battle, and Scott presses his lips together to keep from laughing. He has a feeling this isn’t going to go well.

“Here,” Rosa hands her a sharp knife, “Tomatoes are there. When you’re done put them in the bowl.”

“Okay,” Tessa gulps and nods, walking over to the counter and picking up a tomato – eyeing it like it’s a hand grenade that could go off at any second.

_Yeah, this definitely isn’t going to go well_.

         

“Ouch!” Tessa hisses for the third time in as many minutes, and Scott looks up from stirring just in time to see her pop her thumb into her mouth and drop to the floor to search for the rogue tomato that apparently had escaped when she’d tried to cut through it.

"Are you okay, T?" Scott calls over to her, trying not to laugh when she harrumphs and grumbles an affirmative back at him.

“Have you ever cooked before, mia cara?” Rosa asks kindly from the table where she’s filling a bunch of cannoli, although Scott can see the spark of laughter in her eyes and the way she presses her lips together to keep from smiling.

“Um,” Tessa hesitates, talking around the thumb in her mouth that Scott figures must still be bleeding, “Do poached eggs count?”

She blushes a pretty shade of pink while the two of them laugh at her and hands the scary knife back to Rosa with an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry. I’m kind of useless in the kitchen.”

“That’s alright. I’m sure you must have other skills,” Rosa chuckles and takes over the task, chopping methodically and doing three tomatoes in the amount of time it took Tessa to do one, “Why don’t you go wait in the courtyard? Meet some of the neighbors.”

“I think that’s probably for the best,” Tessa agrees, checking the cut on her thumb and then tucking it into her hand to protect it from further energy.

Scott watches her go, splashing droplets of water everywhere when he waves goodbye with the pasta spoon - making her laugh before she disappears outside, which in turn makes him grin like an idiot as he stirs the noodles round and round.

“Tu sei innamorato. You’re in love,” Rosa raises her eyebrows and Scott nearly knocks the entire vat of noodles off the stove in his haste to deny it.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rosa. I’ve only known her for twenty-four hours. That’s hardly enough time to decide if I even _like_ her.”

“But you do _like_ her,” Rosa mimics his tone, pushing him away and taking over finishing dinner. Apparently not satisfied with the two useless people employed to help her, “Sometimes all it takes is a few minutes with the right person to know.”

“Not everyone finds true love as quickly as you did,” Scott reminds her softly, sitting down at the table and starting to fill up the rest of the cannoli shells – a task he quite enjoys because he can lick any of the extra sweet ricotta filling that spills out off of his hands (as long as Rosa isn’t looking). On most nights Paolo would be right there with him.

"This is true. When Matteo nearly ran me over with his bicycle that afternoon fifteen years ago I hardly thought it would be the beginning of a romance, but he bought me lunch to apologize and by the time we parted that night, I was certain he was the only man for me,” Rosa smiles wistfully, kissing the cross that hangs around her neck on a simple gold chain and closing her eyes at the memory.

“So you believe it was fate? That you were destined to be together?” Scott’s never been one to put much stock in the idea of soulmates or destiny, but after the day he’s had… well, he could use a second opinion.

“Yes,” She replies with a simple little shrug, working on turning the tomatoes into her famous, absolutely delicious, sauce.

“How did you know?” Scott’s heard the story of her and her husband Matteo before, it’s one of Rosa’s favorite bedtime stories to tell Paolo, but he’s always just accepted her feelings – never questioned them.

"It was in his smile and the way he made me laugh. Matteo had the warmest brown eyes, like melted chocolate, and when he looked at me, I felt warm too.”

“So it was a fairy tale right from the beginning? You knew you loved each other and everything was perfect?”

“Oh, no,” Rosa laughs, “Not at all. Matteo was a poor man who worked at a shoe repair shop, and my parents were very wealthy. They disapproved immediately and forbade me from seeing him again.”

Scott hasn’t heard this part of the story before, although he’d always kind of wondered why the only grandparents that came to visit Paolo were on his father’s side, so he perks up in his seat and listens closely,  “What did you do?”

“I saw him again,” Rosa replies with a mischievous little grin, “My parents thought they were doing what was right, but i frutti proibiti sono I più dolci. They only pushed us closer together. I told them I was spending extra time volunteering at the church, but instead I saw Matteo. That might have been the most unforgivable sin of all.”

“And you never regretted your choice? Even after your parents disowned you?”

“Not once. Our time together was short, but it was blessed. Love is always worth the risk, Scott. It is life’s greatest gift, to love and be loved, and when you find it you have to cherish it,” She looks up at him sharply, but then her face softens into an understanding smile, “Like that young woman out there. Don’t waste your chance. Go find her. She looked like she could use some extra cherishing right now anyway,” Rosa laughs at her own joke and hands him the first aid kit from on top of her shelf, practically pushing him out the door.

“Thank you, Rosa,” Scott stops in the doorway, turning back to kiss her on the cheek, and Rosa swats at him again.

“You’re welcome. Now go.”

 

Scott finds Tessa playing Scopa with the Bianchis, little Anna sitting on her lap and pouring over the cards with a serious expression – whispering hints into her ear every few seconds. Tessa’s holding her left hand aloft in an obvious attempt to stop the bleeding and Scott drags a chair over to sit down next to her.

“Oh! Hi,” Tessa turns to smile at him and it nearly takes his breath away.

“Hey,” He replies softly, aware of the elderly couple watching him from a few feet away. Apparently everyone he knows is curious about his relationship with the pretty brunette. “Here,” he gently takes her hand and places it in his lap, then removes the plastic around the Band-Aid and puts it on, “Let me.”

“Thank you,” Tessa grips his fingers for a second after he’s finished before turning to concentrate on the game, and Scott – feeling bolder than he has all day – leans forward over her shoulder so that his face is right next to hers and he can look at her cards.

“You’re welcome. I didn’t know you knew how to play this game.”

“I don’t. Signora Bianchi was kind enough to offer to teach me and Anna here has been helping so that I don't lose too badly,” Tessa explains, making a match with the cards on the table and high-fiving Anna.

“She’s a quick learner though, your Tessa. Already won the last round,” Signora Bianchi winks at him and Scott can feel himself blushing at the use of _your_. Tessa doesn’t correct her though, and she didn’t correct him when he’d accidentally said _my Tessa_ earlier, and that realization sends Scott soaring kilometers above the earth.

“Did you know she’s a princess?” Anna chimes in, pulling one of Tessa’s cards out of her hand and matching it up with two numbers on the table.

“Oh really?” Scott grins at Tessa, who gives the little girl a small smile, looking kind of embarrassed and refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Sì,” Anna nods, “She said I am one too because all girls are princesses.”

“That’s true, they are,” Scott nods seriously, tugging Anna’s pigtails and tickling her stomach when she laughs.

“She asked me if I was a princess. She said I was too pretty not to be,” Tessa chuckles awkwardly, trying to explain herself, “I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“Well, you were right, Tess. Anna’s parents would definitely agree that she’s a little princess. Bossy like one too,” Scott tickles Anna again, making the little girl squeal and wriggle free from Tessa’s lap so that she can run away, and Tessa visibly relaxes when he grins, before tensing up as he wiggles his fingers at her, "Your turn." 

"Don't you dare," Tessa fixes him with a stern look, one that could probably make businessmen cower, and he raises his hands in quick surrender - winking at her before she turns back to her cards.

“How long will you be staying with Scott?” Signora Bianchi cuts in, interrupting their flirting and matching up her own cards.

“Oh, I’m not-“ Tessa starts.

“She’s not staying with me,” Scott says at the same time.

“I’m sorry, my apologies. I meant how long will you be staying with Scott at the party tonight?” Signora Bianchi corrects herself, but something about the secret smile she shares with her husband tells Scott that wasn’t what she’d meant to ask at all.

"I’m not sure. I think I’ll need to go back to my hotel eventually.”

“No. That's no good,” Signor Bianchi drawls, looking over his own cards and stroking his chin, “If you think too much, you get unhappy. Better to not think at all and just do.”        

“Spoken like a naïve romantic,” His wife smiles and shakes her head, and Signor Bianchi places his hand, wrinkled and tanned – his wedding ring practically embedded into it after so many years - over hers.

“Being a romantic is how I convinced you to stay with me all this time.”

"Well it definitely wasn’t your talent at Scopa, that’s certain,” Signora Bianchi laughs, decidedly winning the round.

“You are a cruel woman, to make me lose on my birthday,” Signor Bianchi pouts while she shuffles the deck, dealing enough cards for Scott to play this time too.

“I made you tiramisu, you love me,” Signora Bianchi corrects him, and Scott watches with a smile as the old man pecks his wife tenderly on the lips.

“Sì. I do.”                                

 

Their little group is broken up by the announcement that the food is ready and everyone gets distracted by the heaping plates of pasta and bruschetta and desserts and wine worthy of the gods – until night falls and the stars are blinking above them and someone plugs in the fairy lights so that the whole courtyard is cast in a magical glow.

As they sit in their little corner and eat they talk about everything and nothing: Tessa's favorite interests (fashion, golf, and spending time at her family's cottage by the lake) and his own (hockey, sports, more hockey), their favorite books and movies (they have a mutual love of Harry Potter, but she loses him at her mention of Pride & Prejudice), and they argue over the relative merits of country music versus oldies.

Eventually Signor Bianchi picks up his accordion and starts playing, something fun and fast-paced that has the half of the group not currently in a food coma on their feet laughing and dancing.

_I should ask Tess_ , Scott thinks, turning towards the girl next to him with a ready smile, but he’s intercepted by another man. One of his neighbors from a couple floors down.  _Carlos_ , he remembers with a scowl.

“Mi scusi signorina, may I have this dance?” Carlos holds his hand out for Tessa, and she smiles and kindly accepts with a slight curtsy that makes Scott chuckle. She really can be so over-the-top polite sometimes – it’s endearing. Like she stepped right out of an Audrey Hepburn movie.

He watches her from his seat for a minute, enjoying the way she moves gracefully – despite the gangling giraffe legs of her partner – and her happy, friendly smile, before Rosa walks over, cutting off his line of sight, and arches her eyebrow at him, “Well?”

“Would you like to dance, Rosa?” Scott grins, letting her tug him up from his chair.

"Yes, but I’m also helping you. Sitting here alone won’t impress anyone.”

“Who says I’m trying to impress-“ Scott stops when she fixes him with a pointed look, his smirk turning sheepish, “Okay, you’re right. Let’s dance.”

Growing up his mom had made him take supplementary dance classes to help with his skating and athleticism, and while he’d been absolutely mortified at the time, he’s incredibly grateful now as he twirls Rosa around the dancefloor.

After Rosa he dances with Madeleine, then invites Signora Bianchi up for a slow dance, then it’s round again with other new people – always brushing against Tessa, circling around her as she gets asked to dance by every man at the party, but never finding the opportunity to cut in.

It isn’t until Rosa’s back in his arms again – shoving him towards Tessa instead of taking him up on the slow dance – that he gets his chance. Scott makes his way through the dancers until he reaches Tessa and Signor Russo, who are doing some sort of awkward two-step that's slightly off-beat.

“May I cut in?”

The old man smiles what must be the first real smile Scott’s ever seen on him and steps backwards with an old fashioned bow towards Tessa, and she curtsies delicately and thanks him for the dance in return before taking Scott’s proffered hand.

“I can’t believe you actually got that man to move,” He murmurs quietly in her ear, sliding his hand around her waist and pulling in closer than he would have dared to only hours ago – close enough that they can really only sway, not dance.

“Me?” Tessa looks up in surprise, “I didn’t do anything. He asked me to dance.”

“Tess, I haven’t seen that man out of his chair over there in the entire year I’ve lived here,” Scott chuckles, shaking his head in amazement, “You charmed him or worked some kind of magic.”

“I didn’t. I was dancing with Signor Bianchi’s son Mario and I noticed Signor Russo smiling at me so I smiled back. Next thing I know he’s asking me to dance.”

“See?” Scott smiles, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the dip of her spine, “You charmed him.”

“Well, if I did, it was an accident,” Tessa lays her head down on his shoulder, burrowing in a little closer, and Scott brings their hands together against his chest.

“I think you charm everybody, Tess. You just can’t help it,” Scott whispers, dropping a kiss to the top of her head and tightening his arms around her just enough to notice.

Tessa pulls her head back so that she can look at him with a fond, curious smile, “Have I charmed you?”  

"Completely," He whispers, and suddenly it’s all too perfect. The lights, the night sky, the music, the way she’s looking at him with those sparkling green eyes of hers. He _has_ to kiss her, so Scott leans in – keeping his eyes fixed on hers before pointedly looking down at her lips, making his intentions clear, and Tessa surprises him by surging forward and closing the distance.

Her lips are just as soft as he’d imagined. Soft and sweet and still tasting a little bit like tiramisu. He means for it to be simple and chaste, like a good first kiss should be, and releases her after only a few seconds, but it seems their bodies have other ideas because suddenly Tessa’s there again – pressing her mouth to his with intent.

They’re not really dancing anymore, instead intently focused on kissing each other for all they’re worth in the middle of the dancefloor, and Scott’s brain pushes away any thought that doesn’t include some form of her name and the word _more_.

He slides the hand on her waist around to her ribs so that his arm is completely wrapped around her – pressing their chests together and sucking in a gust of air at the sudden, vivid reminder that she’s not wearing a bra, and it takes someone very pointedly clearing their throat nearby and a muttered Italian curse for them to finally break apart – breathing a little heavier than is entirely appropriate for their public environment.

“Wow,” Tessa murmurs, sounding quietly surprised as she traces her fingers from his ear down the side of his neck to his collar, “That was… amazing.”

She giggles and toys with his shirt, and Scott kisses her forehead – refusing to put any space between them even though he can sense a few disapproving glares at their sudden PDA. Not so much because of the action itself, but because the next dance has started and they’re inhibiting everyone’s movements around the dancefloor.

Tessa looks around them at the rapidly moving dancers before taking a tiny step back, “We should probably go now.”

_What? She wants to leave?_ Scott tilts his head in confusion, loathe to let go of her and leave their little bubble.

“Do you want me to take you back to your hotel or…” He asks nervously, dreading the idea of her saying yes and leaving now, when things are going so well. His voice trails off as Tessa looks up at him, her eyes luminous and the fairy lights making her dark hair shine.

“Or-?” She waits for him to present another option, and Scott gulps, fingers twitching at his side as he tries to resist the urge to run his hand through his hair.

“Or you could stay the night… with me… if you want.”

It's an open, purposely kind of vague offer. He means it however she wants it - if she wants to sleep together, then that's fine, but if she wants to  _sleep_ together, then that's absolutely marvelous. Either way he'll be happy just to spend a little more time with her.

“I want to,” Tessa replies without hesitation, nodding her head excitedly and then blushing as if she’s embarrassed to appear so eager.

“You do?” His mouth falls open in genuine shock. He’d hoped, but he’d never actually considered that she might say _yes_. 

“Yes. I like you, Scott. A lot,” Her blush grows a deeper shade of crimson, but she continues talking anyway, “And this day has been like a dream and so unexpectedly wonderful. I’m not quite ready for it to end.”

“I feel the same way,” He swoops in and kisses her cheek, then laughs at Tessa’s own shocked face.

“You do?”

“Yeah. Do you wanna get out of here?”

“Yes, please.”

Scott’s certain there are more inconspicuous ways to leave a party – like slipping out individually and meeting back up at his apartment upstairs – but they can’t exactly go without saying farewell to the Bianchis or Rosa or any of the other people that Tessa seems to have instantly befriended, and it takes a good thirty minutes before they finally break free and make it upstairs.

Scott shuts the door behind them and locks it, turning around to face Tessa, and an air of nervous anticipation settles over them that has Scott wiping his sweaty hands off on his jeans like he’s some sort of teenager about to get laid for the first time.

"Do you want to go to sleep? Should I get the pajamas for you again?”

“No,” Tessa stares at the tile floor, then squares her shoulders and looks straight at him – as if staring into his soul, her eyes full of fire, “I want to have sex with you.”

Completely taken by surprise, Scott chokes on his own saliva. He’d never in a million years expected her to be so bold. But then, this is the girl who traipsed around Rome with a stranger, mastered her fear of driving a Vespa, and befriended his entire community in an entire day. He really shouldn’t underestimate her.

“I mean, if you want that, too,” She amends, her face flooding with color, and Scott laughs.

“Tessa, _yes._ Fuck yes. I want that too.”

“Are you certain? Because I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Scott chuckles at her distress at the thought of making him uncomfortable. As if she could ever pressure him into something. He’s pretty sure he’s been subconsciously wanting this all day – wanting to hold her hand, to kiss her, to make her smile. The idea of it is absurd. If anything he’s the one who should be worried about pressuring _her_.

“It’s kind of adorable how polite you are. It almost makes the Canadian in me feel inadequate,” Scott laughs, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear and caressing her cheek as he does.

“I hope the Canadian in me doesn’t feel inadequate,” Tessa quips, taking him by surprise for the second time in as many minutes, and Scott full-on belly laughs, delighted by the innuendo.

“Oh, there’s no chance of that, I promise.” 

Scott kisses her again, taking his time memorizing the little sounds she makes when he kisses down her throat, the way her knees buckle slightly when he nips underneath her ear, how her whole body seems to shudder when he buries his fingers in her hair and scratches the nape of her neck.

She’s so responsive, he can’t get enough of her.

Tessa’s hands toy with the hem of his shirt while he assaults her neck, until with a deep breath she dares to slide her hands higher over his abs and he gasps, trying not to let out an unmanly giggle when she accidentally tickles him.

“Can you take this off?” She asks so politely, her voice contrasting with the way she tugs at the material, and Scott steps away for a moment to satisfy her request – pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion and tossing it to the side.

He’s proud of his body (finally, puberty was a bit rough) and he preens a little under her appreciative gaze. But that preening vanishes the second her soft fingers stroke slowly across his collarbone, down his sternum, across his pecs, and then finally down his abs to his happy trail.

Tessa watches her own hands moving with an intense focus, nibbling on her bottom lip, and Scott feels his jeans growing uncomfortably tight at her gentle touch.

“These too?” Tessa hooks her fingers through the waistband of his pants, as if reading his mind, before looking up at him, and Scott feels completely enraptured by the blatant desire in her eyes.

“Sure, T, whatever you want,” And he means it. He’s generally been the type to take control of his sexual encounters, but there’s something about Tessa’s innocent, yet not so innocent, exploration that has him surrendering completely. Anything she wants from him, is hers.

Tessa pops the button on his pants and pushes them to the floor – leaving him only in his black boxers that are obviously tented.

“Can I?” She gestures vaguely at his crotch and Scott nods, not trusting his voice not to crack like a fifteen year old when he speaks.

She cups him gently, barely applying any pressure, and it’s all he can do not to thrust into her hand when her fingers start moving in curious little strokes.

“Does this feel okay?” She rubs at him so lightly it’s pure torture, “This is new for me.”

_What’s new? Hand jobs or…_

“You mean-?”

“Yes. This will be my first time. I hope that’s okay.”

"Is that- Tess, of course it’s okay. I’m honored,” Actually, he’s really fucking aroused by that thought, but it feels kind of primal and idiotic to admit that, so he keeps it to himself. Instead Scott takes her hand and brings it up to his mouth to kiss her palm, “Let’s make things a little more even, eh?”

He flicks his head towards her dress and Tessa blushes, but doesn’t hesitate as she removes her sweater – draping it neatly over the back of the chair – then reaches behind her to unzip the back.

The sound of the zipper echoing loudly in the room, accompanied only by the sound of their heavy breathing, is nearly enough to undo him. There’s so much _promise_ in the simple sound that it has him groaning deeply in the back of his throat.

She reaches for the thin straps of the dress next, and Scott stops her by gently covering her slightly shaking hands with his own, “May I?”

“Yes,” She replies, still no hesitation despite her nerves, which bolsters his confidence, and he slips his fingers under the straps and slowly pushes them off her shoulders, relishing how creamy soft her skin is under his hands (he wants his mouth there at some point), until gravity does the rest of the work and the dress pools around her feet.

He only gets a second to look at her before she brings her arms up to cover herself, her blush spreading down her neck and adorably freckled chest and disappearing under where her arms are protectively hiding the top half of her torso.

Scott doesn’t try to stop her from covering up though, he wants her to be comfortable with him and if she isn’t quite ready yet then that’s fine. Instead he’s surprised as his gaze falls lower to find a bellybutton piercing winking at him in the dim lighting, and it makes him grow almost impossibly harder.

_Huh, I didn't know I had that particular kink._

“Tess,” He whispers, bringing his hands up to run the back of his knuckles up and down her upper arms, watching goosebumps break out across her skin at his touch.

“Yeah?” She whispers back, her voice thick with emotion and desire.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Really?” She beams at him and her arms loosen their protective hold a little bit.

“Yes,” How she doesn’t know that about herself, he can’t understand, but he’ll happily spend every day telling her if she’ll let him.

He moves his right hand to her stomach, stroking the muscles and grazing the two silver balls there – chuckling when she sucks in her abs and tries not to laugh.

“I want to know the story,” He continues circling around her bellybutton, a wicked little laugh escaping every time she flinches when he hits another ticklish spot.

“The story?”

“About this,” He tugs lightly on the jewelry, smirking when she gasps again.

“Oh, that. I was thirteen and feeling... suffocated. I needed a way to lash out against my rather," She pauses, searching for the right words, "Restrictive childhood. I made my brother take me to the shop so that I could get it done. My father was more angry about the pictures that got out than the piercing. My mother just chalked it up to youthful expression.”

Scott presses his thumb between the balls, feeling the thin rod underneath the skin, “I like it.”

“You do?” Tessa stutters, stepping in a little closer and peering up at him.

“Mmhmm,” He hums, running one hand up and down her naked spine while he glides his thumb down to stroke across her skin from hip to hip, “It’s sexy.”

And at last that seems to reassure any lingering doubts that she has because she drops her arms and lets him take his fill of her body - grabbing his wrists and bringing his hands up to her breasts. They both practically moan at the contact.

They’re not very big, but they’re round and soft and perfect and suit her and Scott can’t get enough of them. Tessa drops her head down to watch him touching her, her features a mixture of curiosity and pleasure, and he _has_ to kiss her then.

Keeping his hands where they are, he lunges forward and presses his lips against hers – grinning into her mouth when her hands fly up to tug at his hair.

Tessa moves them around, one hand scratching up and down his back in a way that has him practically shaking against her, and he breaks their kiss to bend his head down and take one of her nipples into his mouth – making her keen.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, nipping the underside of her breast before moving to give equal attention to its twin.

“Yeah,” Tessa gasps, her head falling backwards as he works a mark into her skin. Scott's willing to admit that he's always been a little bit possessive, and he likes the idea of his hickeys trailing her body, as long as she does too – and if her little moans and whimpers are any indication, she does.

Tessa tries to pull him down onto the bed, moving them slowly backwards as he continues lavishing her breasts with attention, but he doesn’t follow when she sits down – instead he grabs a pillow and drops it on the floor before sinking down to his knees between her legs.

“What are you doing?” Tessa frowns in confusion, reaching for his arms and trying to pull him up again.

“Something else that I think you’ll like. Tell me if you don’t though, and I’ll stop, okay?”

He waits for a moment while she looks at him, taking a minute to make her decision before she relaxes and nods, “Okay.”

He starts with the inside of one thigh, just above her knee, kissing his way up and up and up – working another mark high up on the inside of her leg - until Tessa’s breath hitches as the heat of his exhale grazes her still-clothed center. Instead of kissing her there though, he moves his mouth up higher instead – kissing just under her bellybutton.

“ _Scott,”_  Tessa moans, the sound shooting straight between his legs, and he has to take a minute to subtly readjust himself and provide a modicum of relief before continuing.

“Does it feel good, Tess?”

“ _Yes_ , please don’t stop.”

_Oh, I have no intention of that_ , Scott smirks into her skin then moves to give the other leg the same treatment – taking his time with each inch of her that he can reach until she’s quaking – but without actually touching her where he knows she wants him to.

“What are you _doing_?” She finally asks, half annoyed, half pleading with him to do more. She’s got one hand in his hair now, trying to guide him, but Scott loves foreplay. Loves building a woman up until she’s mindless with desire, and he can be as patient as he needs to be.

“It’s your first time. We can’t just dive right in,” He explains, placing a wet, open-mouthed kisses right above her mound and grinning when her whole body shudders.

“Why not?” Tessa whines, mindlessly thrusting her hips up towards his mouth.

“Because I want you to feel good.”

Tessa scoffs, collapsing backwards onto the bed, “Ugh, that’s such a cliché thing to say.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” He smirks at her eagerness, dragging her underwear (white and very expensive looking) slowly down her legs and throwing it over his shoulder with an exaggerated toss and a playful wink, grinning like a schoolboy when she laughs.

Scott runs his hands up the inside of her legs again, a little bit faster this time and with more intent, “I think you’re gonna _really_ like this, T, but tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Okay,” Tessa swallows loudly around the lump in her throat, her eyes fixed on his as he leans in closer, and when he finally brings his mouth to her center she moans so wantonly he nearly comes on the spot.  

She hums and whimpers and gasps at varying volumes as Scott experiments with licking and kissing and sucking – following her inflections like signposts on the way to bringing her maximum pleasure. Eventually, he pushes one finger inside her, then slowly another.

“Oh! I like that,” Tessa says slowly, her voice thick and her chest heaving.  

“Yeah?” Scott slides his free hand up her body until he can palm one of her breasts, working it at the same time as he pumps his fingers in and out of her body, and Tessa brings up one of her hands to cover his.

“Yeah. And could you do that sucking thing again at the same time?” She sounds like a mixture of embarrassment and desire, and Scott feels a weird sense of pride surge inside his chest at the fact that she feels comfortable enough to ask him for what she wants.

“Absolutely.”

She’s practically writhing against the bed now (his sheets are going to smell like her for weeks) and he has to move his hand away from her nipples so that he can hold her down and keep up his rhythm. It doesn’t take long after that though. Soon her back arches as her body seizes in a wordless cry and she gushes against his mouth.

He works her through it, then kisses her thigh and withdraws his fingers – crawling up onto the bed over her and dropping a quick kiss to her lips that Tessa is too busy catching her breath to return properly.

“Well?” He grins, waggling his eyebrows and plucking playfully at one of her nipples, making her squeak and half-heartedly swat his hand away.

“I liked that. I liked that _a lot_ ,” She pants, barely managing to smile up at him as she struggles to catch her breath.

“Good,” He flops to the side on his back next to her, trying to calm his own racing heart, and Tessa rolls over to face him.

“What about you? It’s your turn,” She starts to slide her hand under the waistband of his boxers, but he stops her before she can reach her intended destination.

“Tess, as amazing as that would be, if you touch me right now this will be over way too soon,” He glances at her apologetically, bringing her hand up to kiss her palm again like he’d done earlier.

“Oh,” She frowns at his refusal, but then her face seems to brighten as she realizes something, “Because of me?”

“Yeah, T,” He chuckles, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her in for a proper kiss now that’s she’s steadied herself, “Because of you.”

“So you liked doing _that?”_

“Going down on you? Eating you out?” He states blatantly, grinning when she blushes, “Yeah, I liked that _a lot_ ,” He repeats her own words, smirking and kissing her again before standing up.  

“Where are you going?” She pouts, reaching out for his arm in an attempt to stop him from leaving her side.

“Condom. Be right back.”

He’d put the box away in his bathroom months ago, not exactly needing it close at hand, but he regrets it as he makes the walk to retrieve it. After the warmth of the bed and Tessa’s body, there’s a bit of a chill in the air that has him tempted to run across the room (although running with an erection is acutely uncomfortable, so he rules out that idea pretty quickly).

He retrieves what he needs from the bathroom and then heads back out - discovering that Tessa had rearranged herself in his absence and is now laying the right direction and with the sheet pulled up under her armpits like some kind of seductress.

“You still want to do this? We can stop now and just go to bed if you want,” He drops the condoms on the floor where they’ll be easy to find and gets into bed next to her, pulling her into a warm embrace.

“Don’t tap out on me now, Moir,” Tessa grins, sliding her leg between his and immediately undoing any of the effect the colder room temperature had on his body.

“Just double checking,” He shrugs, kissing her with a passion – grinning against her lips when she parts them for him and grants him access, “I want you to be sure.”

Tessa’s hand grabs onto his shoulder-blade, digging in a bit with her fingernails as she encourages him to roll slightly on top of her, “I promise, I really, really want to. I appreciate you asking, but you can stop now.”

Scott smiles and moves his mouth across her jaw and around to work another mark underneath her ear. She’s going to have a few to cover tomorrow, but maybe he can convince her to stay in with him all day instead so that she doesn't have to worry about it (he'd be doing her a favor by suggesting that, right?).

He normally wouldn’t check in _quite_ this much, but this is Tessa and it feels so different. He wants to do everything exactly right, and not just because it’s her first time and she deserves that, but because it’s _their_ first time. He wants her with him every step of the way.

“I like that, you know,” Tessa whimpers, tugging his hair when he nibbles her collarbone, widening her legs so that he’s cradled between them.  

“What do you like?” It’s hard to think when the only thing separating them is the thin fabric of his boxers, but he somehow manages to get the words out in the correct order.

“The love bites. I like them,” She confirms his suspicions, pulling his head up so that she can kiss him again, thrusting lightly against him, and Scott groans into her mouth.         

He reaches between her legs and starts rubbing her clit again, slipping two fingers inside her immediately and feeling pleased when she hums in pleasure and there doesn’t seem to be any resistance.

"You don’t have to do that again. Hurry up,” She complains, trying to move his hand away, but Scott shakes his head and kisses her softly.  

“I don’t want it to hurt. You have to be really ready.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that for her to let him continue touching her. He gets her close again – noses hovering inches from each other, her pupils blown wide as she gasps in the air right out of his lungs – her fingernails digging into his forearm as he works his hand a little faster, then pulls away at the last moment.

“What!? No!” Tessa cries out, her eyes shooting open and her fingernails practically clawing at his arm as she tries to put it back.

“You’re ready, Tess,” He kisses her, stroking his tongue along the roof of her mouth, then reaches down on the floor for one of the condoms. It takes him a second to find them - she's so wet his brain has practically short-circuited with the desire to be inside her and he can't find the focus necessary to grab the stupid foil packet off the floor.

“Oh,” Her mouth forms a perfect little O in surprise, and Scott chuckles, finally grabbing one of the condoms and repositioning himself over her.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” He grins, laughing when she playfully smacks his shoulder.

“ _Yes_ , I just didn’t know it came with torture first.”

“Did it really feel like torture?” Scott bends down to kiss her chest, moving his lips lower to suck on one of her nipples – pressing it against the roof his mouth with his tongue.

“N-n-no,” She stutters, her eyes falling closed again as she starts grinding her hips against him like she was before.

“I didn’t think so,” Scott releases her with a wet pop, pressing a kiss to her sternum before rummaging around between them to remove his boxers and get the condom on.

As soon as everything’s in place, he positions himself between her legs and reaches between them to get lined up properly, before finding her eyes with his and kissing her slowly, “If anything hurts, tell me and I’ll stop.”

Tessa nods, her hands scratching lightly down his ribs before landing on his hips just above his ass, and Scott reaches up so that he can caress her face as he pushes slowly inside her.

He moves as carefully as he can, taking his time entering her inch by inch even though every part of his brain is screaming _wet, tight, hot, Tessa, jesusfuckingchristonadonkey_ – not necessarily in that order – until he’s finally completely inside her.

They lay there for a moment, hearts beating wildly and chests pressed together while Tessa adjusts, until finally she smiles up at him and presses a gentle, slightly sloppy kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“You can move now,” She whispers, grinding her hips, and so he does.

He pumps in and out of her slowly, following her sounds like he did before until he’s certain he can start to speed up. Until she’s meeting him thrust for thrust, one arm thrown around his neck and the other sliding between them so that she can touch herself. The only words passing between them consisting of a series of expletives and pleas for more and faster and harder and an endless litany of each other's names.

The first graze of her fingertips against him as he moves in and out of her nearly makes him blackout, only the quick mental run-through of everything he hates most in the world preventing him from finishing too early, and he knows he doesn’t have much longer.

“Tess, _fuck_ , I’m sorry, but I’m gonna-“

In that moment she seizes up again like she did before, only this time he can see her face properly as she does - her head tilting backwards as her eyes clamp shut and her face scrunches up in pure ecstasy - and it’s that combined with her constricting tightly around him that has him finally giving in, his face burying itself into the crook of her neck as his body jerks with release.

“Wow,” Tessa whispers after a few minutes of blissed out silence, tracing unknown shapes on his back. He’s probably crushing her, but he’s pretty sure his limbs have completely forgotten how to function.

“Yeah?” He murmurs into her collarbone, finding just enough strength to pull out and shift to the side so that he’s no longer completely on top of her.

“I didn’t think it would be like that.”

_Shit, does that mean she thinks it was bad?_ Scott feels a momentary build up of panic as he slowly asks, “No? What did you expect?”

“I thought it would be awkward and painful and that I’d want it to be over as soon as possible, but…” She trails off, turning her head to look at him with a wide, joyous smile, “It was perfect.”

“Well, don’t say that,” Scott teases, sighing in relief, even though his head probably just swelled ten times with pride, “I’m sure we can make it even better with practice.”

He disposes of the condom before gently guiding her onto her side so that he can spoon her from behind.         

“So… we can do that again later?” She asks shyly, lacing the fingers of her left hand with his where they’re extended out in front of her – her head resting on his bicep.

“We can do that anytime you want,” Scott murmurs into her strawberry scented hair, relishing how perfectly they seem to fit together, “Do you want me to get you the pajamas?” He certainly wouldn’t mind if she wanted to sleep naked, but he wants her to be comfortable and warm.

“No,” She says quietly, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”

“What what would be like?” He asks curiously, kissing her shoulder and stroking the back of his fingers along her side from ribs to thigh.

“Sleeping naked with someone,” She answers quietly with an awkward little chuckle, and Scott smiles and kisses her shoulder again. Wordlessly deciding that the crook of her neck is becoming his favorite place in the world.

“I’m happy to help you find your answer. You’ll have to let me know in the morning if it meets your expectations.”

Tessa laughs and nods, yawning loudly and blindly grabbing his right hand that was resting on her waist and pulling it in tight against her chest – fingers interlaced with her own so that all four of their hands are linked, “I will. Goodnight, Scott.”

“Goodnight, Tess,” He tucks himself in behind her, smiling against her scalp when she scoots backwards into him so that they’re pressed together from their heads to their knees. Already he can hear her breathing evening out, feel her body relaxing against his, and he knows he’ll soon follow her into dreamland.

Although he doesn’t think any dream he’s had or could have could ever compete with this.

He’s never felt this way before. This sense of certainty. This knowledge that this is it - he can just tell. Can picture them spending more time together in Rome for a while before maybe moving back to Ontario. Or maybe he'll join her on the rest of her tour of the European continent. Eventually they’d have to figure out visas and everything for her, or for him if they went to Quebec, but he can see her in his parent’s house. Spending Christmas with his family, laughing with his brothers, learning to ice skate. He’ll find a proper job and they can get a little place in town and he’ll make her homemade pasta every Friday night and she can work or get another degree or do whatever it is that her heart desires.

Whatever she wants him to do, he will. Tessa had stumbled into his life entirely by coincidence, but now that she's here he doesn’t intend to let her go.

Scott snuggles in closer and closes his eyes, matching his breathing to hers and falling asleep to the gentle rhythm. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I frutti proibiti sono i più dolci - Forbidden fruit is sweetest


	5. in the hustle and bustle, no sunshine appears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after & the truth finally comes out.

** in the hustle and bustle, no sunshine appears **

  ****

The steady staccato of the rain tapping against the window prods Tessa awake, slowly forcing her to leave behind her rather pleasant dream (in which she was a princess in ancient Rome and Scott had been her gladiator) and take stock of her surroundings.

The air is cool, but not unpleasantly so, and she’s lying on her stomach with the sheets pooled low around her hips. There’s a dull, pleasant sort of ache between her legs that serves as a potent reminder of the activity she’d engaged in the night before (and sometime again in the early morning). It's not very bright yet, so she knows it's still early morning, and behind her she can hear Scott still breathing deeply - unperturbed by the storm outside.

As carefully as she can, Tessa turns onto her side to face him without jostling the mattress too much. He looks so peaceful in the grey morning light. One hand splayed out over his heart and the other extended by his side towards her. His hair is a complete mess and she longs to reach out and run her fingers through it, but she doesn’t want to wake him up. He looks entirely too content to be disturbed right now. 

She does, however, allow herself to place her hand in his where it rests between them on the mattress, and Scott's lips twitch upwards for a second the moment their hands meet and he lets out a tiny little contented sigh and Tessa's heart nearly flies out of her chest. 

He's adorable - like the romantic lead straight out of a fairy tale - and she's definitely, one hundred percent, completely infatuated with him. 

It’s amazing how much her life has changed in the last twenty-four hours. When she snuck out of the embassy in the back of a stinky, old, garden truck she’d never expected to meet a young man and fall headfirst into a whirlwind romance, but she doesn’t regret a single second of it.

Even the loss of her virginity, (which, yes, she knows is a social construct, but still meant something to her), isn't something she feels any remorse over.

Tessa has thought a lot about sex over the years, what it would feel like, who it would be with, when and where it would happen. She’s twenty-one years old and a red-blooded female with a pretty high sex drive. Of  _course_ she’s thought about it. But she’s never had the opportunity to find out for herself (thank you, royal family).

It’s cliche, but she’d always expected having sex for the first time would suck. Jordan had told her as much when they’d been holed up under the covers of her big bed on one of the weekends that her sister was home from school, the two girls divulging all of their secrets to each other.

Well, mostly Jordan would reveal her secrets. Tessa never had much to tell, until now.

But the point is Jordan had said the first time would probably be awkward and embarrassing and a little painful and yet Tessa had ended up feeling none of those things.

Scott had been gentle and loving and made her feel confident and sexy and never moved faster than she was ready for. It really had been perfect in every way - the cherry on top of the delicious sundae that had been yesterday. 

There's something about him that feels different from any other guy she's had a crush on, even to an inexperienced woman like her, and although it’s only been a day, she already feels like she  _knows_ him.

She knows he has two older brothers he practically worships, a mother and a father he respects and adores, he’s kind and has a good heart, is loved by his community (which is worth a lot, in her book), he makes her laugh, and he’s been nothing but wonderful their whole time together.

But that isn't enough. She wants to know  _more_.

How is she supposed to go back now, when their relationship has really only just started? She knows that has to return today – her time limit is almost up before the press will be notified of her disappearance and a genuine manhunt begins, and she really doesn’t want that kind of attention. And, quite frankly, she’s a little shocked that the secret service hasn’t found her yet. She’d half expected to find one of them around every corner yesterday. But she doesn’t want to go back. She wants to stay with Scott and learn everything there is to know about him and life in Italy instead.

If only she could walk into the embassy, hand over her tiara and title, and stay with Scott in Rome forever.

They could live in this little apartment with its old furniture and peeling paint and Rosa could teach her how to cook and they could play Scopa with the Bianchis every Sunday and she could eat her weight in gelato and work it off by going for long passeggiatas in the evenings with a man she very likely could fall in love with.

 _A simple, perfect life,_ Tessa smiles to herself. She can see it so clearly in her mind. 

But then a face surfaces with a bright smile and framed by short blonde hair, unbidden and unwelcome, followed by others, and Tessa’s heart lurches. Her mother and father, her brothers and sister, her home. She can’t just run away from all that – it wouldn’t be right. She loves them too much and, as much as she might complain about it, she has a duty to her family's name and to her country.

 _Maybe he could come with me to Quebec_ , she thinks, stroking her index finger back and forth across his wrist. She’d bet he would look pretty good in a tux standing by her side at formal events. He’s so charismatic he’d probably woo the crowds immediately and solve foreign crises with a grin and a joke. And the best part is, she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. He would be there by her side. A hand to hold. Someone to share her life with.

She wants it more than anything.

“Stop staring at me,” Scott whispers suddenly, disrupting her thoughts. His voice is harsh and raspy in the quiet room and for a second Tessa thinks he’s upset with her, but then he pries one brown eye open and smiles, “It’s distracting.”

"Sorry. I was just thinking,” She reaches up and pushes his hair away from his forehead like she’d been longing to do, letting her hand move lower to caress his cheek and then further down along his neck and collarbone. It’s a luxury, being able to touch him like this, and she intends to treasure every moment of it.

"It’s too early for thinking. This is the kind of morning for sleeping in,” He reaches out and grabs her by the hip, pulling her in closer and kissing her forehead with so much affection she thinks she might actually cry.

Scott closes his eyes again and Tessa lays her head on his shoulder for a moment, trying to follow his lead and go back to sleep, but her thoughts keep spiraling into how she’s going to break the news to him that she’s actually royalty. A princess who might dare to ask him to uproot his entire life just to be with her. 

It’s probably too ridiculous to hope that his response will be, “That’s awesome, I'm in. Wanna make-out?” but, hey, a girl can dream.

In reality he'll probably call her insane and tell her to get lost, or worse, he might ask what kind of monetary compensation he'd receive if he said yes. The very thought has her spiraling into a world of melancholy. 

She needs a diversion _fast_.

Thankfully, his body is  _right there_ and he smells so good and he’s all warm and snuggly – and who knows when she might get to experience this again? Even if he does want to go back to Quebec with her, there would be so many details to figure out they might not get to be alone together for days, or even worse,  _weeks_.

Tessa leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the freckles at the base of his throat, smiling against him when Scott hums deep in his chest in response. Encouraged, she continues on – running her mouth back and forth across his skin and peppering a few kisses along his collarbone. His skin is soft and smooth and she loves the way it feels gliding back and forth underneath her lips.

“Tess,” Scott croaks, “That doesn’t feel like sleeping.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” He stutters and Tessa smirks, nibbling at him a little.

His hands grip her hips a little tighter, the tips of his fingers digging into her muscles, and his breathing becomes more erratic as she continues kissing down his chest.

There’s a special, intoxicating kind of thrill that comes from the power she has over him now. It’s like nothing she’s ever experienced, to have him at her mercy, wanting her so much. It’s a heady feeling better than anything she’s ever felt – even drinking her parent’s best wine or that one time she and Jordan stole a joint from Casey a few years ago and got high on Jordan’s balcony (they’d both thrown up later and sworn never to do it again, but Tessa had thought then that she’d never beat that kind of high. Apparently she was wrong).

It doesn’t take much convincing to get Scott to roll over the rest of the way onto his back so that she can straddle him and continue working her way down his body. She can feel him growing hard again underneath her and it sends a rush of heat between her legs and urges her to continue her ministrations.

“Tess,” Scott groans as she circles one of his nipples with her tongue, one hand tracing along his abs and memorizing the way they feel beneath her fingertips. She's never had the chance to explore a man's body before, and now that she can she wants to take advantage of every second.

“Yeah?” She peers up at him, her dark hair falling around her face and, unbeknownst to her, making her look like a seductress straight from one of Scott's fantasies.

"Nothing, just,” He whimpers a little when she nips at him again, soothing the spot with her tongue before moving to the other side of his chest, “You’re so gorgeous. I can’t believe this is real.”

Blushing at the compliment, Tessa moves back up so that she can kiss him on the lips, stroking her tongue alongside his for a minute before pulling back slightly, “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He rolls his eyes and she giggles at him, but her laughter turns into something else entirely when he slaps her ass in retaliation.

“Oh!” She cries out in surprise, and Scott’s face immediately goes pale.

“Shit! I shouldn’t have done that without asking. I’m sorry,” He starts scrambling to move away from her, to give her distance in case she needs or wants it, and his hands disappear from her body to fall beside his head on the pillow like a surrender. As if he'd been burned. 

“No,” Tessa puts a finger over his mouth to stop him from continuing to apologize and wriggles for a minute as the sting fades away, contemplating the revelation that she _liked_ it, “No, that was a good sound.”     

“It was?” Scott asks around her finger, then surprises her again by drawing it into his mouth and sucking on it lightly. Objectively, it shouldn’t turn her on, but it  _does_. Especially when paired with the heat in his eyes.

“Yeah… I kind of liked it actually. Is that okay?”

“Fuck yes, Tess. Whatever you like is okay by me,” Scott nods eagerly, his right hand returning to her body and stroking along her ribcage before running his thumb over her nipple and making her whimper. 

“ _Anything_?” She gasps, an idea forming in her head. 

“What do you have in mind?” He brings his hand back to her ass, rubbing the spot where he’d hit her, and Tessa feels another gush of warmth between her legs.

 _Something to revisit later_ , she makes a mental note,  _I definitely want to explore that feeling._

But there’s something else she wants to do first.

She pushes away from his chest, sitting on his stomach again, (she briefly wonders if she could get off rubbing herself on his abs, and if he would like that) and points behind her to Scott’s lower half, “Can I look at it?”

“By it, you mean my dick?” Scott clarifies, chuckling and moving his hands up and down her thighs in a way that’s incredibly distracting. His thumbs keep getting closer and closer to her center and Tessa knows she’s seconds away from her brain surrendering completely. His touch seems to leave a fire in its wake that burns away any thoughts that aren't of him. 

"Yeah,” She stutters, her voice thick with her rapidly increasing arousal. She knows she's blushing furiously, but tries to keep her nerves in check as she explains, “I never got to see it properly last night.”

Nothing more than little glimpses anyway, and she figures that doesn’t really count. He got to see  _all_ of her, after all, so it’s only fair she gets to do the same.

“Sure,” He gestures for her to go ahead, and Tessa almost misses the way his ears have turned a little pink, but then she catches it - noticing the way his eyes have moved upwards to avoid embarrassment - and she surges down to kiss him.

“What was that for?” He asks in surprise as soon as she pulls away, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Just to say thank you.”

“For letting you look at my-“

“No,” She cuts him off with a slightly manic little giggle, “For everything.”

"Oh… you’re welcome,” He smiles softly up at her, gently tugging a strand of her hair, and Tessa kisses him once more for good measure before scooting backwards – dragging the sheet away with her so that there’s nothing in the way of her view.

He’s already half-hard when she curiously wraps one hand around him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards with satisfaction when he moans at her touch, and it doesn’t take long to get him the rest of the way there. He's somehow both hard and soft in her hand, like velvet encased steel, and apparently the joke about men being controlled by their dicks is true because he seems even more at her mercy than before, judging by the way his breathing has become labored and his head is thrown back against the pillow.

“What do you like?” She asks after a few moments experimenting with moving her hand up and down at different speeds, noting all the little changes in his body and the way his breath hitches at varying pressures and twists, “Should I use my mouth?”

Scott chokes on his own spit before managing to tilt his head up to look at her, spluttering, “If you- if you want to. You don’t have to.”

“Would it feel good?” Tessa prods, her hand ceasing its movements while she waits for an answer, which in turn makes him twitch impatiently. She can tell from how tense his legs are underneath her own how much he's struggling to stay in control and it makes her feel powerful. 

“ _Yes_.”

“Then I want to,” She nods firmly and bends down, taking as much of him in her mouth as she can on the first go – which proves to be a mistake when Scott cries out and thrusts upwards into her mouth, making her gag unattractively and release him.

 _Well, that wasn't exactly pleasant_ , Tessa wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and breathes through her nose, trying not to accidentally throw up and ruin everything. 

“Sorry! Shit, Tess, sorry. I wasn’t expecting-  _fuck_  – I’m sorry,” Scott starts to move away again and his face, only moments ago an enticing image of eager anticipation, crumples into a mixture of shame, regret, and embarrassment. 

_No, that won't do. He did this for me last night - I'm going to be at least as good as he was._

“It’s okay," She reaches out and stops him from moving, staying exactly where she is and nodding with determination, "Let me try again.”

She moves slower this time, licking him from base to tip and back, experimenting with her tongue in conjunction with her hand, before eventually moving to take just a little bit of him inside her mouth. 

The slower pace means Scott's able to control himself a bit better, but Tessa can see from the angle she's at that his jaw has gone taut and all of the muscles in his neck are bulging. His hands are fisting the sheets with the effort it takes him not to thrust into her mouth again, and knowing he's like this, nearly mindless with pleasure, because of  _her,_ has her reaching between her legs to touch herself and take some of the edge off her own arousal. Someday she hopes she'll be able to take him all the way in and let him thrust the way he wants to, because clearly he wants it  _a lot_. 

Humming around his cock and nearly laughing when he jerks in response, she sucks on him once -  _hard -_ hollowing out her cheeks, and his hands fly to her hair and pull her head away with an obscenely wet _pop_.

“Stop, Tess. You gotta stop or this is all gonna be over and I really want to be inside you again.”

His chest heaves with the effort of getting enough air into his lungs and his pupils are blown wide and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his chest - all of which fills her with a sense of pride.  _She_ did that. Her. The princess everyone assumes is so good and pure and innocent.

 _Ha! Take that, world media, I almost made a boy come in my mouth on the first try!_  She practically crows in triumph. 

“Okay,” She grins and releases him, reaching down by the side of the bed for another condom, “Will you show me how to put this on?”

Scott tears the packet open and guides her through it, his hips spasming a little when her hand touches his dick again, and Tessa can’t help but smirk wickedly at how sensitive he is - squeezing him once more just to torture him a bit.

“You learn too fast,” He groans, slapping her ass again, and then it’s her turn to moan.  _Yeah, I really like that,_ she thinks with a little whimper as he massages the spot again.

"You're a good teacher. Is that a problem?” She reaches between them and lines him up, relishing the feeling of being on top this time and getting to have the control. She's developing a hypothesis that she enjoys being on the top more than on the bottom, but needs, say, eighty more years to be certain. Hopefully Scott won't mind being her guinea pig. She'll need to do lots of different tests for accurate results.

“No, it just means you’re probably going to be the death of me,” His voice hitches on the last word as she starts to lower herself onto him, and Tessa giggles - the vibrations creating an interesting sensation when he’s inside of her that makes them both moan.

“I suppose that’s why in French it’s called  _la petite mort_ ,” She says, sighing deeply when he’s finally completely inside her and pausing to enjoy feeling so stretched and full. The sensation is still new and unique and her eyelids flutter shut as she soaks it in, “It means the brief loss or weakening of consciousness and usually refers specifically to the sensation of orgasm as likened to death.” 

“Are you seriously giving me a French lecture right now?” Scott’s hands tighten on her hips and he plants his feet so that he can thrust up into her, and Tessa makes a funny little sound somewhere between a laugh and a whine.

“Is now not the best time to start teaching you?” She manages to gasp, winking down at him, and Scott abruptly sits up and brings his face close to hers - wrapping his arms around her so that she’s effectively sitting in his lap with her legs around his waist.

“Sure, if that’s what you want. What’s the French word for this?” He ducks his head and takes one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue running over her nipple before he sucks on it,  _hard_ , and Tessa throws her head back in ecstasy – her hands flying up to bury themselves in his hair and hold his head in place.

“I don’t – I don’t know,” She whimpers when he moves to give her other breast the same treatment, his mouth finding the marks he’d left there the night before and sucking on them again to make sure they last a good long time while his hand sneaks between their bodies to rub her clit, and she’s lost.

In the end, she doesn’t end up teaching him anymore French just then, her mind a little too occupied by other things.

Instead it’s Scott who, a little while later when they’re lying in a tangle of limbs, their hearts beating erratically and the sweat still cooling on their bodies, looks over at her while stroking her hair and whispers, “Je t’adore, Tessa.”

He kisses her tenderly on the lips, whispering, “Did I say that right?” with a hopeful, endearing, little smile that makes her heart stop and then pick up five times as fast. 

"I think so, yeah. If you meant to say that you adore me.” She blushes and Scott pulls her in close, nuzzling her nose with his.

“Oui, Je t’adore.”

His accent is terrible and the pronunciation isn’t perfect, but her native language has never sounded better.

 

 

“Do you want something else to wear?” Scott asks later once they’ve managed to get out of bed, driven by their stomachs grumbling so loudly that the neighbors can probably hear the noise, noticing the way she’s holding the white sundress in front of her and eyeing it warily. It's horribly creased and has a few mysterious smudges, probably a result of dancing with a bunch of men who had just eaten pasta, and she isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of wearing it for a third day in a row.

“Do you have anything that would fit me?” She really hopes he doesn’t have girl clothes tucked away somewhere. That would definitely ruin the mood she’s in, which is currently a cross between  _fou de joie_  and  _satisfait_.

“Go take a shower,” He kisses her temple and then lightly slaps her ass, encouraging her to move towards the bathroom, “I’ll dig something up.”

 

Tessa steps into the tiny shower and closes her eyes while the warm water soothes her aching muscles. Sex, it turns out, is a lot more physically demanding than she’d anticipated. Especially if you have it four times in one night. Or should she consider it morning? Or some sort of combination of the two like norning or might? The ridiculous thought makes her giggle loudly, the sound reverberating off of the cracked tile walls. 

She feels giddy and weightless as she grabs his shampoo and works it into a good lather, like her body could fly way up to the stars or blow away as easily as the bubbles in her hand. The surge of endorphins running through her body is euphoric and if there wasn't a one hundred percent chance of her slipping and falling, she would definitely be dancing in the shower and singing some sort of sappy love song at top volume.

Part of her really hopes Scott will join her. Shower sex has always seemed too dangerous and fraught with potential injuries, but for him she'd be willing to give it a try.

Tessa closes her eyes and starts to run her soapy hands down her chest, imagining Scott doing the same, but then her stomach rumbles again and she’s brought crashing back to reality.

_Food, I need food._

And also, as much as she dreads the prospect, she really needs to tell him the truth about who she is. Sooner, rather than later. In fact, as soon as they arrive at the café for breakfast she should just open her mouth and let the words spill out. He deserves to know. 

Especially if she intends to try to convince him to move to Quebec. 

Tessa finishes with her hair and turns the water off, nodding at herself in the mirror on the wall and whispering  _you can do this_ before squaring her shoulders and inhaling deeply through her nose.

 _Tell him at the café, Tess. Don’t chicken out. He said he adores you, so it’ll be okay._      

She walks back out with the towel wrapped tightly around her torso and firmly tucked in under her arm to find Scott fully dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt and jeans, holding up a grey shirt with a bright red maple leaf on the front, emblazoned with the word "Canada" down the sleeve, and his smallest pair of sweatpants.

“I know it’s not perfect, but I think these are the only clothes I have that won’t totally drown you,” He chuckles and hands them over, and Tessa grins at him. 

_His clothes, not someone else's. Good._

"Thank you,” She smirks sinfully and drops the towel, enjoying the way his eyes zero in on her body and his cheeks flush, before cinching up the pants as tight as they’ll go and tugging the shirt on over her head. It's all a little big, but overall she figures the ensemble isn’t  _too_ awful.

“You don’t have a hair elastic, by chance, do you? Or a blow dryer?” Her hair is already soaking the shoulders of the shirt, which is a little uncomfortable and sends goosebumps down her arms. 

“Um, no, sorry,” Scott grimaces and Tessa sighs. She's never gone anywhere without looking completely presentable, lest she ends up in some magazine under the  _Worst Dressed_ category or accused of going through some sort of crisis. She still distinctly remembers the summer when she was seventeen and had been photographed in a baggy hoodie and sweats going for a run - the pregnancy rumors had plagued her for months. There's still a blog out there dedicated to the idea that she'd secretly given birth to a child and kept it hidden from the public eye. All because of one bad outfit. 

But she's in Rome and the likelihood of somebody looking for her in a little hole-in-the-wall cafe is slim, so she shrugs it off and grabs her sandals, “Well, I guess I’m going out with wet hair.”

“It’ll be fine, T,” Scott presses a quick kiss to her temple and grabs his keys off the counter, “Nobody at La Sinfonia will care, trust me. And you're beautiful no matter what you're wearing or how crazy your hair is.”

“Okay. But I’m driving,” She grins, sticking her hand out for the keys as Scott loudly sighs and juts out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

“One lesson and now I’m never getting my Vespa back.”

"Nope!" Tessa says happily with an extra pop on the P, "You’ve forfeited all rights to me.”

“What about when I have to go to work? Are you going to let me drive it then?”

“Maybe. If you’re nice," She tugs on his hand and leads him out the door, pausing to lock it up for him before heading towards the staircase.

"What's next? You planning on taking over my whole apartment too, T?" He laughs, but Tessa's heart skips a beat. 

_Yes, if you want me to. I'd like that very much._

Instead of being honest about the strength of her feelings, Tessa chooses to play it safe - sticking with a wide smile and teasing him, "Not yet, but sleep with one eye open, Moir." 

It's a cheap cop-out, but at least it will buy her some time to write a script in her head for how she'll confess everything. It has to go exactly right. 

Her future happiness depends on this breakfast. 

 

         

The café is surprisingly busy for a weekday, more than Tessa had expected, (it's not exactly conducive to having an important conversation with so many people around) and they have to shove their way between quite a few people to make it to the counter.

“Pardon me,” Tessa repeats herself for the fifth time as they walk, bumping into a rather large man who looks at her with gruff annoyance, “Sorry.”

He grunts and looks away, then turns back to glare at her for an uncomfortable amount of time before harrumphing once more and walking away to join his friend at their table by the window.

“Sorry. It’s not usually this busy,” Scott throws his arm over her shoulder and pulls her in close to his side, trying to protect her from getting shuffled around again, "I'm not sure why there are so many people here today."

“It’s alright," Tessa reassures him, stroking her thumb over his knuckles, "I’m not sure how we’ll get a table though. Maybe we should take our food and walk along the Tiber instead?”

"We'll figure something out. I'll tell them you're an honorary guest or something," He winks and turns to place their order with the waitress, and Tessa's heart sinks like lead. 

She remembers when she was a little kid watching the movie  _Inspector Gadget -_ there was a scene at the end when the main character's mind-reading hat malfunctions and just displays his thoughts on repeat, round and round his head, and Tessa feels a lot like that right now. Except her hat would be saying, "Tell him the truth, tell him the truth, tell him the truth!" 

It's now or never.  

They end up managing to snag a vacant two-person table as soon as the couple sitting there stands up, practically running towards it to beat anyone else. Which in turn makes them dissolve into fits of laughter as soon as they’re seated - both of them falling into the chairs with shocking lack of grace and nearly spraining their ankles in the process. 

“I thought we already did our work-out this morning,” Tessa jokes as she rights herself, laughing when Scott blinks owlishly at her, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Why, Miss Smith, are you  _flirting_  with me over breakfast?”

The use of her pseudonym is like a bucket of cold water and any clever response she might have had is lost as she awkwardly replies, “Yes,” in a shoddy attempt to keep playing along, even though her thoughts have immediately been consumed by the terrifying realization that she can’t put it off any longer. She has to tell him the truth.

  _Just do it, Tessa. You’ve met diplomats and given speeches and been in the public eye your whole life. You can tell him the truth. Four words. I am a princess. Let’s go._

“Scott,” She starts, fiddling with the napkin in her lap and staring at her bowl of fruit like she's drowning in the ocean and it’s her only lifeline.

“Yeah, T?” He responds easily, tearing off a piece of his cornetto and popping it into his mouth. She glances up at him, but it proves to be a mistake when he catches her looking and licks the crumbs off his fingers with exaggerated movements – winking at her once he’s finished.

Tessa licks her lips, watching his eyes grow dark as they follow the movement of her tongue, but then she shakes herself. 

“I have to tell you something,” She blurts it out and then purses her lips together, embarrassed by how loud and out of control it sounded.

_Get a grip! You can do this!_

“Okay. What is it?” Scott looks slightly taken aback by her outburst, but he leans forward anyway and reaches out with his hand across the table, and Tessa takes it – interlacing their fingers for some much needed emotional support.

“I'm not-“

A shadow falls over the table in the shape of a tall, extremely well-built man in a tailored black suit, and his gruff voice is like a battering ram against their happy little bubble, “Your Highness, could you stand up and come with me, please?”

Tessa’s mouth falls open as she looks up at his familiar face and her heart, already laden with dread, plummets into her feet, “How did you find me?”

Her voice is mangled as she struggles to speak around the sudden lump in her throat and she knows she's probably hurting Scott with how tightly her fingers are gripping his, but she can't help it. 

The man, her personal security guard, Robert, glances once at Scott, then their hands, then back at Tessa. She knows him well - from his buzzed blonde hair to his grey eyes and the scar high on his left cheek from when a member of the paparazzi had gotten too close to her and he'd fought him off. Robert has been her personal security guard since she was eight years old. He used to give her piggy back rides around the palace and steal her clandestine ice cream cones from the kitchen. At any other time she'd be happy to see him, but as it is...

“Tess, who is this guy?” Scott looks back and forth between the two of them, his eyebrows creased together and the concern evident on his face. His fingers return her crushing grip and he looks ready to jump to her defense if necessary, which only makes her heart ache more. 

_This isn't how this was supposed to go. We were supposed to have more time._

“Your Highness, you have been missing for thirty-four hours and twenty-two minutes. We  _must_ go. Please come with me willingly,” Robert pleads with her quietly, his eyes only stopping their constant swivel for a moment to look at her before going back to taking in every detail of their surroundings. 

He looks worried and Tessa knows very well that if she doesn’t get up like he asks, he is entirely capable of throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carrying her out of the building without hesitation.

“Back off, buddy. You've got the wrong girl,” Scott says firmly, glaring up at Robert - his free hand balling up into a fist. Robert easily towers over him and could probably crush Scott in two seconds flat, yet that does nothing to intimidate him. 

Tessa can sense a few curious eyes starting to look over at them from around the café and she gulps nervously, rushing to control the situation before Scott does something drastic and Robert retaliates, “Scott, it’s fine." The last thing any of them needs is to cause a scene and have it end up in the papers or online gossip sites, “Stand down, Robert. I’ll come with you, just give me a moment.”

“Robert?” Scott asks, tearing his glare away from the tall man to look at Tessa, his voice only getting louder, “Tess, what’s going on?”

She opens her mouth to reply when a man bursts into the café with a large camera and shouts, “Hey! That’s that princess from Quebec!"

“I know! Get out of my shot!” The man from the counter earlier shoots out of his chair, revealing a camera of his own, and Tessa has the sickening realization that he was taking pictures of them the whole time.

Suddenly there are cameras flashing from every direction and people calling out to her and the more that happens the more they draw curious stares and camera phones from the other café patrons who don't want to miss out on the chance to capture whatever is going on.

By the end of the day she's going to be on thousands of Instagram and Twitter posts, with damp, curling hair and no make-up, no less, and it's her own damn fault. 

“Smile, your majesty!”

“Your highness, over here!”

“It  _is_ her! Look!” A woman holds up her gossip magazine, knocking her coffee onto the floor but not stopping to care, showing a picture of Tessa on the front with William and Kate from her visit to England a few weeks ago. It's objectively a very good picture and her face features prominently, so there's no way she can throw this lady off or try to lie her way out of it. 

It's definitely her. 

“I don’t understand,” Scott looks like he’s going to be sick, staring at the gossip magazine like it's the worst puzzle piece in the world, and he pulls his hand away from Tessa’s, gripping his knees instead, “You’re a princess?”

“Yes,” Tessa replies helplessly, leaving her empty hand on the table in the hope that he’ll take it again, “I was trying to tell you but-“

"You lied to me?" His voice is anguished and it's like a sucker-punch to her gut. 

"Yes, but-" She tries to explain, but more voices call out at her and the cafe becomes even more crowded as patrons shove their way indoors for a chance to glimpse her face and see for themselves if royalty has graced their small cafe. 

“Is this your boyfriend?”

“Where’s your family, Princess?”

“Your Highness," Robert puts a firm hand on her shoulder, sending the message loud and clear that they are leaving. Now. "I must insist that we leave right away. This situation is getting out of control.”

“Not yet, Robert,” Tessa snaps at him, keeping her eyes desperately fixed on Scott’s. At first he refuses to look at her, which hurts, but then when he finally does it's like he doesn’t know her at all, and that's even worse. 

He looks at her like...

Like they're strangers. 

"I can explain, if you just-" Tessa tries to begin for the third time, but Scott interrupts her.

"What's there to explain? You  _lied,_ Tess-" The rest of his sentence is drowned out as more paparazzi show up and start yelling more questions. 

 _What? Do they have some sort of emergency hotline to contact each other? How are they so FAST?_ Tessa sits up straight and glares furiously at the crowd around her, fighting back the tears of frustration that threaten to spill out over her cheeks. The last thing she needs is for these people to photograph her crying and capitalize on it. 

"That's it, we're going," Robert practically hoists her to her feet and if Tessa didn't know him like she does she would have slapped him for that maneuver. 

"Scott, when can we-" She tries again, reaching out to caress his cheek or grab his shoulder or  _anything_ to reassure him (to reassure her) that this isn't the end, but her voice only continues to be drowned out by much louder calls. 

“Are those his clothes? Was this a secret rendezvous?”

“Did you spend the night with him?”

“Are you in love?”

“Who’s the guy? Has he met the King and Queen? Can we expect a wedding?”

"Guess the pretty little princess isn’t so pure anymore," The large man from before lasciviously looks her up and down, before turning to Scott with a crooked grin, "Tell me, how did you get her to open her legs for you? If you did it, maybe I have a chance.”

All at once Scott shoots out of his chair and punches the man in the face. There's a loud crack and a string of expletives as blood streams from the man's broken nose and Scott glares down at him without remorse, his chest heaving as he fumes. 

"SHUT UP! You don't know a single thing about her!" Scott shouts, shaking with rage, and more cameras flash.  

“Scott!” Tessa reaches out for his arm, but he flinches and pulls it away from her grasp. 

“Your Highness!” Robert grabs her around the waist and starts moving them towards the door, practically dragging her away. 

“No, wait. Scott!” She tries again, waving her arm wildly and trying to catch his eye even as the crowd presses in around him, threatening to cut him off from her line of sight, "Robert, let me go!" 

“I’ll have someone stay with him to make sure he gets back to his home safely and without being followed," Robert nods at her, opening the door of a sleek black car parked across the street and pushing her inside, "Now we  _must_ go.”

The crowd of paparazzi and curious onlookers spills out of the cafe, continuing to photograph her, but Tessa still tries to climb back out of the car, “No! I need to talk to him!”

“There’s no time.”

She manages to glimpse Scott emerging from the cafe and she waves desperately at him one last time, “ _Scott!_ ”

His eyes find hers and he opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is lost as her door slams shut and the car takes off down the road back towards the embassy. 

Tessa turns around in the seat and gets up onto her knees, staring out of the back window with her hand pressed against the glass. Scott stumbles onto the street, helplessly watching her car disappear, and the last image she has of him is of another member of the secret service walking up to him and pulling him away from the crowd. 

 

\-------

 

The tan walls of the embassy, once seemingly nondescript and plain, tower over her like Dracula's castle as Tessa is led inside by two members of the secret service that she recognizes from her parent's personal detail. A sure sign that things are  _serious_. 

Robert marches quietly behind her, keeping a steady pace and resolutely ignoring the accusing glares Tessa keeps shooting him over her shoulder.

She knows he was just doing his job, and probably did her a favor by not grabbing her the second he found her, but she's still mad at him for preventing her from explaining things to Scott. Maybe if he hadn't shown up when he did, she would have had a few more minutes before the paparazzi invaded to explain things and it wouldn't have all gone to shit. 

Clearly everyone at the embassy had been made aware of her discovery and imminent arrival because there are people all around, some talking rapidly on cell phones, and Suzanne comes running out of one of the rooms - a look of stark relief on her face - followed closely by her mother the Queen, and then, even more surprisingly, her sister Jordan.

“Tessa! Oh my sweet baby girl! You’re alright,” Her mother slams into her with a tight bear hug and Tessa returns it right away, holding on just as tightly after reaching up to pull some of her mother's trademark blonde strands out of her mouth.

"Hi, Mom. I'm sorry you flew all this way for nothing."

"Don't be absurd! You were  _missing_. It wasn't nothing." Her mother, rarely publicly emotional, chokes back a sob as she holds on even tighter, and Tessa suspects her ribs will be sore in the morning. She deserves it though, after the pain she must have put her family through. Somehow it had failed to occur to her that they would have been notified immediately of her disappearance, even if the general public wasn't. 

“Tess! We were worried sick about you!” Jordan gathers both of them up into her arms, creating a big group hug, and Tessa adjusts one of her arms to hold onto her sister as well.

"Jordan, what are you doing here? Don't you have finals?" Tessa asks, her voice slightly muffled by someone's shoulder - her mother's or Jordan's, she isn't sure.

"My baby sister disappeared in a foreign city," Jordan leans back to fix her with a look that says,  _duh, you idiot_ , a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks and ruining her make-up, "I flew in with Mom. You had us all worried sick!" 

“I’m sorry. I never meant to make anyone worry,” It’s a half-baked apology, but she  _does_ mean it. She was an idiot not to think about this possibility. She'd been so consumed by Scott and adventure and romance that she hadn't spared a thought for her family. 

She's been incredibly selfish. 

“What were you thinking, running off like that in the middle of the night? Anything could have happened to you!” Her mother nearly shouts, holding her at a distance by the shoulders and taking in all the details about her appearance from top to bottom - looking for any new bruises or scratches, just like she used to do when Tessa was little - and Tessa can see her making a mental note about her clothing and hair and overall disheveled appearance. "Were you kidnapped? Did that boy-"

"No!" Tessa cuts her mother off immediately with a shout, then lowers her voice a little so that the guards and employees watching the display can't hear them, "No. I ran away. It was all my own choice." 

"You can be a little rebellious sometimes, Tess, but never like this before,” Jordan smooths her wild hair, her eyes lingering on Tessa’s neck, and Tessa blushes – remembering the hickey Scott had left there. She hadn't even thought to try and cover it up. All she can do is pray that her mother doesn't know what a hickey looks like.

(She knows, of course, that her mother isn't stupid and definitely knows what it is, but maybe she hasn't noticed).

“I wasn’t thinking. I just… I just wanted to see Rome by myself.” Tessa mumbles, digging her toes into the thick rug. 

“But you weren’t by yourself, were you?” Suzanne cuts in, and Tessa can tell from her voice and expression that she already knows the truth. She’d been hovering around their hugs the whole time, a mixture of concern and relief on her face, but now that she's determined Tessa is alright, she sounds like she’s back to being all business.

“Well, I was at first-“

Her mother holds up her hand and the room falls silent, “Suzanne, there’s no need to get into that right now. Let’s get Tessa upstairs and into a fresh pair of clothes,” Her mother scoops her up into another warm embrace and whispers into her ear, “I’m so relieved to have you back. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I love you," Tessa whispers back, her eyes starting to sting with the hot tears that threaten to fall, and she wipes at them surreptitiously - trying to prevent an emotional disaster. 

“I love you too, my darling girl.” 

The four of them make their way upstairs, her mother’s arm still around her shoulders and Jordan’s hand in hers, and head to Tessa’s bedroom.

The place looks like it's been picked over by various guards trying to investigate. The bed is unmade, her closet door hangs open, and everything has been practically torn apart.

Once the door is securely closed behind them, Suzanne speaks up again, "I’m so glad that you’re alright, Tessa. We were all terrified for you," She pulls Tessa into a quick hug, before releasing her and pursing her lips, "But we need to talk about damage control. This boy you were with-“

“His name is Scott. Scott Moir,” Tessa supplies, unable to bear hearing him being spoken about in such a throwaway manner. As if he was nothing more than a one night stand that needs to be _dealt_ with. 

“Scott Moir," Suzanne nods, making a note, "You were photographed with him having breakfast wearing clothes that are clearly not your own. And what’s almost worse, that shirt is clearly Canadian. This is a PR nightmare.”

“So? Who cares about my clothes?” Tessa flops backwards onto her bed with a huff. They're  _his_ clothes, and that makes them good enough for her, whether they're the wrong country or not. 

She nearly expects a lecture from her mother about maintaining proper decorum at all times, but as it is her mother just sits down on the mattress beside her and tugs her hand into her lap. Jordan climbs onto the bed too, throwing an arm around Tessa's waist and snuggling in close. 

"Don’t be naïve, Your Highness, everything you wear shows up in magazines, just like it does for the Queen and Princess Jordan. You are one of the Princesses of Quebec. You cannot be seen wearing the imagery of other countries. Surely I don’t have to explain this to you.”

“It was just a shirt!” Tessa throws back, raising her voice slightly and earning a silent yet stern reprimand from her mother. 

“Tessa, you must understand how big of a scandal this is," She tries to explain, clasping their joined hands with her free one, and Tessa tries her best not to roll her eyes.

Prince Harry got caught playing pool naked in Vegas or something once. This seems like it should hardly be a blip in the news, by comparison.

"Suzanne is right. How could you forget your country? Your duty?”

“My duty!?" The accusation has Tessa knocking Jordan aside and flying off the bed so that she can glare at all three of them, "You think I  _forgot_? The only reason I’m here right now and not with Scott is because of my duty.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that you would have thrown away everything for some boy?” Jordan sits up and looks at her in shock. Her voice is kind, but her eyes give away her judgment, and Tessa stands up a little straighter in defiance.  

"Yes." 

She can tell her answer takes them all by surprise, and it's Jordan who speaks up first, her voice quiet and understanding and her features schooled into something more sympathetic, “Okay, but Tess... this boy-”

"He's not just some boy, and my time with him was the best experience of my life,” Tessa cuts her off, not wanting to get into the details, but feeling desperate for them to understand. 

Scott isn't just some  _fling_. 

Not to her.

“Your Highness, you should know that the tour has been cut short. You’re going home tomorrow,” Suzanne informs her, the ever-present day-planner held open in her hands, and Tessa shakes her head so hard she nearly gives herself a migraine.

“No. I can’t go home tomorrow. Scott lives here and I didn’t have a chance to explain things to him or even say a proper goodbye.”

“It’s not safe for you to meet with him again," Suzanne explains gently, "All of the paparazzi in northern Italy has converged on Rome to cover this story. You and your dalliance with him is front page news. He’s going to be followed everywhere he goes and that will only get worse if you’re seen with him again.”

"Mom?" Tessa turns helplessly to her mother, silently begging her to make everything right like she used to do when Tessa was little and afraid of the dark. She's never met a problem that Queen Kate couldn't solve. 

"Suzanne is right, Tessa," Her mother replies solemnly, "If we draw further attention to him, it will only make his life even harder. If we leave him alone, all of this will blow over soon and he can get back to his routines." 

"But-"

"Tess, you have to be realistic here," Jordan stands up and takes her hand, "Everyone will be watching you and him until some other scandal happens and this becomes old news." 

"But-"

“Can you both leave us, please?” Her mother says abruptly, addressing both Jordan and Suzanne and nodding at them as they exit the room. 

Jordan gives her a kiss on the cheek as she goes, whispering, "I know this is hard, but I'm  _so_ glad you're back," in her ear. 

It makes her feel even guiltier for wishing she was with Scott right now, instead of her family. 

“We issued a press release claiming that you were taken ill to explain your absence,” Her mother informs her quietly as soon as they're alone, "But it won't last. Those pictures are going to be all over the press tomorrow, if they're not already. That poor boy.” She says the last part so quietly Tessa's not sure she heard her correctly, sighing deeply before saying, “Talk to me, Tessa.”

“What do you want me to say?” She looks up at her mother and winces at the unexpectedly shrewd look she finds. 

“Well, first I need to know. Is there any chance of a pregnancy that we need to worry about?”

Tessa's mouth drops open in shock, her cheeks turning crimson, "I don't know what you mean."

“I’m not stupid, darling, and you haven’t hidden it at all,” Her mother states confidently, and if Tessa's cheeks get any hotter they're going to burn right through her face. Apparently her mother _had_ noticed the hickeys, “I’m not angry with you. Rome is a magical city and it’s easy to get swept up in it, especially when there’s a cute boy involved. And you're an adult and beautiful and I'm sure he fell head over heels for you. But I need to know if-“

“No," Tessa blurts out, "No. We were safe.”

“Good," Her mother sighs and sits back down on the bed, patting the mattress beside her and waiting until Tessa joins her before continuing, "Now, tell me about why you ran away. Was this tour too much pressure?”

“It wasn’t just the tour, Mom, it’s everything. I feel like there’s a magnifying glass on me all the time, everywhere I go. I haven’t had a moment to myself in weeks. Years, really. I only meant to be gone for a few hours – just to see the Colosseum – but then the sleeping pill Suzanne gave me took effect and thank god Scott found me or something terrible might have happened," Tessa fiddles with the rings on her finger as she tries to explain, the words rushing out of her now that she's given herself permission to speak freely, and it's like a load lifts off of her shoulders. 

“Well, first things first, no more sleeping pills. If you’re not able to sleep then that’s a scheduling problem. We booked too much for you, so we’ll scale back.”

“I was going to come straight home in the morning, but Scott was so… He’s so great, Mom. He’s funny and kind and handsome and smart and compassionate. All of his neighbors love him and the little kids adore him. He took me on a tour of the city and it was so amazing. I think… I think I’m falling in love with him,” She surprises herself with the admission at the end, but finds that she doesn't regret speaking the words out loud. It's nice to hear them - as if saying them makes the feelings more real. 

“Oh honey,” Her mom tucks her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek as she does, and Tessa sucks in a deep breath. Something about her tone makes her certain she doesn't want to hear the next words, “I understand how you’re feeling, and I’m sure he’s a lovely boy, but you must be realistic. He’s Canadian, you’re Quebecois, and royalty, too. Did you tell him that?”

“He knows I’m from Quebec, but,” She hesitates, guilt rising inside her stomach and making her feel sick, “But no, I didn’t tell him who I really am. I wanted him to like me for me, not for my title.”

"I understand, that's a natural thing for someone in your difficult position to want, but think about it from his point of view. That’s more than just his address you’d be asking him to change. It’s everything about his way of life, his freedom, his privacy and anonymity. Do you want that? Do you think he does?”

“I-“ She hesitates, swallowing loudly and looking back down at her hands. 

The truth is, she has no idea what Scott might want now. He’d said he adored her, she thought they were heading in the same direction emotionally, but that was before he had a metaphorical bomb dropped on him this morning. And not a little hand grenade either, but a big, atomic, city-decimating type bomb. For all she knows he hates her and wants nothing to do with her now.

And he loves Rome. She knows he loves it. And he seems like the kind of guy who wants to a private life surrounded by comfort and the people he loves, not somebody who wants to attend galas and meetings and be photographed for sleazy magazines around every corner. They could never date like normal people, even if she did abdicate. No, she’ll carry her title and name with her wherever she goes, disrupting his life. She's already disrupted his life, if the crowd that morning is anything to go by, and she feels terrible about it. 

How much worse would it be if it was like that all the time? Can she really ask him to put up with that?

“You’re probably right. He probably wants no part in this circus.”

Her mother pulls her into a tight side-hug, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, “I know it hurts and this life can be hard. I’m sorry.”

“It's not your fault. Let’s just… let’s just go home, Mom.”

 

\-------

 

Their family's private plane has always felt like something of an adventure. When she and her siblings were kids they used to make up elaborate games of make believe and cause all sorts of ruckus on board. But right now the last thing Tessa wants to do is play pretend. Instead, the moment they take off she climbs into the queen sized bed in the back of the plane and buries herself under the blankets.

Her mother and Suzanne are both working, their fingers flying across their laptop keys at a furious pace. Kate is probably attending to serious state matters while Suzanne tries to control Tessa’s PR and do damage control on the photos that emerged almost immediately of her and Scott looking lovey-dovey in the café.

Tessa had heard her whispering to her mother about more pictures showing up on Instagram as well, once people started recognizing her in the background of their photos. Cute snaps of her and Scott walking hand-in-hand and laughing, or just smiling at each other like idiots.

The thought of it hurts.

It hurts that she’ll never see him again. That she never said a proper goodbye. That he must be so furious with her. That their special day is being exploited now and sold to the highest bidder in an attempt to piece together a salacious story.

Ugly sobs wrack her body as she gives into the sorrow of her broken heart, her shoulders heaving uncontrollably until the weight of the mattress dips behind her and a pair of surprisingly strong arms hold her together. She recognizes the freckle pattern on the hands and snuggles in closer to her big sister, seeking out the comfort only Jordan can provide.

“Shh. It's going to be okay,” Jordan says quietly, kissing the back of her head and brushing the hair out of her face, and Tessa hiccups loudly as she tries to stop her tears.

“I'm fine,” She tries to sound confident, but her voice wobbles – giving her away – and Jordan’s extra tight little squeeze is all it takes to send her over the edge again. Wet, hot tears streaming from her eyes and soaking the pillow beneath her head.

“You’re not fine," Jordan chastises her gently, "This guy, Scott, did you fall in love with him?”

“Almost," Tessa admits quietly, speaking barely above a whisper, "I was definitely fall _ing_.”

“And you slept with him?” It's not really a question, but Tessa answers her anyway. 

"Yeah.”

“It must have been some sex, to make you want to give up everything instead of coming back to the embassy,” Jordan jokes, tickling her ribs, and it’s enough to make Tessa laugh as well. An ugly, half-crying sound that makes Jordan hold her tight again.

“It was the best. He definitely earned, like, some kind of gold medal for sex champions,” Tessa tries to laugh and Jordan chuckles a little bit out of sympathy.

“I’m sorry it had to end the way that it did. Maybe if he were Quebecois-“

“I know. If he weren’t Canadian, if he didn’t live in Rome, if I wasn’t a princess. So many ifs,” Tessa shudders as she lets out a deep breath, wondering where Scott is and what he's doing and if he's alright.

“It’ll get better, Tess. I know your heart is broken now, but it will mend. You’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Tessa gulps, “Thanks, Jojo.”

Exhausted, she falls asleep with Jordan’s arms still around her, making her feel safe and cared for, but it isn’t enough to convince her that everything will be alright.

She’d given her heart away and with every passing hour in the air it gets farther and farther away from her. Stowed away somewhere in a little pocket of Rome with a boy who may or may not want it anymore.

But even if he doesn’t want it, even if he hates her now, it’s his, and Tessa’s pretty sure she’ll never get it back.

 

 


	6. sometimes the world is a valley of heartaches and tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's cold, it's snowy, and Scott is back home in Ontario nursing a broken heart.

** sometimes the world is a valley of heartaches and tears **

 

The weather has been unusually cold for November, even a November in Ontario, and Scott appreciates the warm gust of air that hits him in the face as soon as he walks in through the automatic doors of the grocery store. It’s embarrassing actually, and he’d never admit it to his brothers, but his year in Rome has turned him soft. The snow and frigid temperatures, a staple of the Canadian winter experience, are jarring to his still-suntanned skin and Mediterranean-adjusted body.

The snow had been coming down hard over the past week, in the London area especially, making walking practically anywhere a hazard. Which is how his dad had ended up slipping and breaking his ankle the previous weekend and why Scott had accompanied his mother to the store. His dad needed supplies for his R&R, and Scott needed an excuse to get out of the house that didn’t involve working at the rink.

“I’m going to get the roast and everything else we’ll need for dinner. And I'll stock up on extra supplies for the week just in case the roads become undrivable,” His mom pulls up by his side pushing a large cart, “You’re in charge of the milk and entertainment. Make sure you get some of those little pocket crossword books – your dad loves them.”

“Sure, Ma,” Scott kisses her on the cheek, getting some of the faux fur from the trim of her hood in his mouth by accident, and he brushes it off his tongue as he heads off in the direction of the magazine aisle, his shoes squeaking loudly on the wet linoleum floor of the grocery store.

There’s a much larger selection of reading materials here, on the outskirts of London, than in the tiny corner market in Ilderton, and Scott picks up a few Tom Clancy books that he knows his dad will enjoy before thumbing through the magazines - grabbing a copy of _Ontario Farmer_ while he’s at it. Anything to help keep his dad distracted while he's forced to stay off his feet.

As he picks it up, the magazine stacked next to it catches his eye and he instantly recognizes the girl on the cover. Her hair is maybe a little darker and she’s dressed in a fancy lime green ball gown (personally he would have gone with a darker emerald shade to make her eyes really go kapow, but she still looks beautiful) and next to her is a very similar looking woman who he vaguely recognizes must be her sister. It’s definitely a mistake, but Scott reaches out and picks it up anyway, flipping open to the index and finding the page number her story is on.

It’s a fluff piece about the royal family of Quebec hosting the Queen of England for an official state visit and Scott scans down the page until he finds the first mention of Tessa by name, _“...One of the few public appearances for Princess Tessa, who has only been seen at charity events since returning from Rome earlier this year where she’d been caught in a scandal involving a young Canadian delivery boy, seen pictured below.”_

There on the bottom of the page is one of the now all-too-familiar pictures of them holding hands at the café on the last morning he’d seen her, and underneath it the caption lists him as _Scott Moyer_.

 _Ha. Maybe if they keep spelling my name wrong nobody will be able to find me,_ he thinks bitterly, closing the magazine with disgust.

It’s not the worst thing he’s seen printed about them. No, that came in the first couple of months following immediately after they were caught. The articles accusing them both of horrible things. Making up all sorts of stories. Calling Tessa awful names that don’t bear repeating while accusing him of being some sort of gold-digger or title-seeker. New pictures emerging every day as people found them in the background of their personal photos and sent them into the magazines for a little extra cash.

He should have avoided all of it straight from the beginning, but it was hard not to look when the magazines and social media posts were either directly or indirectly about him. In all his years he hadn’t ever given much thought to tabloids or how their words might be harmful - to him they'd just been ridiculous things to look at while he waited in line to buy his groceries - but now he has a healthy appreciation for just how much of a negative impact they can have. The headlines from the past few months are still burned in his memory:

 

**Closer:**

Princess Tessa Breaking the Rules: Her secret rendezvous in Rome PLUS: How much do we really know about the youngest royal?”

 

**Hello!:**

Tessa and Scott: Can a member of the royal family marry a citizen of another country? What options are there for the young couple?

 

People magazine had seemed to particularly like discussing Tessa, running a new headline on the cover of each month during the summer.  

**People:**

          Tessa's Sexy New Man! _(He’d kind of approved of that one, if he's being honest)_

          A Prince for Tessa? Or a Pauper. ( _He doesn't have a lot of money, but he'd thought that was a bit of a low blow)_

          Inside Tessa’s Nightmare: A romantic getaway turns embarrassing for the royal family. Her shock. The King’s fury. How it happened and who’s to blame.

That last cover had included an unfortunately clear and detailed picture of him punching out that one offensive guy after he'd said vulgar things to Tess, and definitely didn't make him (or her) look very good. Although if most people knew what had been said, Scott's pretty confident they'd agree his actions were totally justified. He's never once regretted hitting that guy, despite all the photos. 

 

**Us:**

Royal Scandal!: After the youngest princess runs wild all around Rome, the Queen and Princess Jordan fly in to do damage control.

 

**Gala:**

          Wild Child: Tessa stuns the world by stepping out with new man – in his clothes!

 

**LifeStyle:**

Tessa: Refusing to Eat

  * Stressed over forced separation from her lover
  * Pressured to be the perfect princess
  * Rebelling against her parents



Scott can still remember that particular cover photo with distinct disgust. It had been so obviously doctored to make Tessa look like a scarily anorexic waif. He’d wanted to punch whoever doctored the photo, and the author, and the editor, but the world didn’t need _another_ picture of him getting into a fistfight over Tess, so he'd refrained.

 

**InTouch:**

A Royal Baby?: A wild night in Rome leads to unexpected consequences.

Scott had scoffed loudly at that one (after almost believing the photoshopped picture for half-a-second and nearly having a heart attack). How could Tessa have lost a scary amount of weight _and_ gained enough to be pregnant? The tabloids really need to start collaborating and getting their stories straight if they want to have any legitimacy.

 

The magazines and rumors had been bad enough, but on top of all that there had also been the endless paparazzi following him everywhere in Rome.

He’d been dragged away from the café by one of Tessa’s security guards and escorted back to his apartment in an attempt to get them off his trail, but that hadn’t deterred the determined cameramen ( _vultures)_ from using whatever godforsaken (and probably not entirely legal) means they had to track him down and then stalk him.

They’d followed him to and from work, harassed his friends and neighbors for information (even though none of them would say a word about Tessa), and none of Rosa’s attempts at literally beating them off with a broom or Signor Russo’s threats to charge them with trespassing seemed to have any lasting effect on keeping them away. Eventually the complete invasion of his privacy and life, and that of his friends, became too much and he’d been forced to flee back to Canada.  

Thankfully, it soon became apparent that a quiet farm life in semi-rural Ontario didn’t hold much interest for gossip magazines, and when there were no new pictures to be had of him and Tessa together, they petered off and left him alone.   

Which is how he’d found himself living with his parents again, working at the rink and trying to figure out how the hell someone moves on with their life after a whirlwind romance with a literal princess and having their world turned upside-down in a day.

Scott puts the magazine back in its proper slot, facing backwards so that he doesn’t have to look at Tessa’s bright, smiling face anymore, and quickly finds the crossword puzzles.

 _There’s no point dwelling on it,_ he thinks with a heavy sigh. The paparazzi have disappeared, he’s nothing more than an incorrectly labeled footnote in their stories, and Tessa is gone.

He’s trying to move on.

 

 

“I got it, Ma, don’t worry,” Scott laughs, looping the last grocery bag over his wrist and twisting his body in an unnatural way to get everything balanced so that he can carry it all inside in one go.

“We can take multiple trips, Scott. I don’t need you to break an arm,” His mother chastises him, following closely behind him in case he slips on a patch of ice or loses a boot in the deep snow, and Scott swears he can actually hear her rolling her eyes. 

“In this weather? Besides,” He huffs, shrugging his left shoulder to keep one of the bags from sliding too far down and upsetting the delicate balance, “If I can do it all in one load, why shouldn't I?”

“Because it’s unnecessary and reckless and will probably smash the bread,” He hears her mutter and he just laughs again.

She’s been having this same argument for thirty years. First with Danny, then Charlie, and now with him, and still none of them will budge. And Scott isn’t about to be the first one to admit defeat, even if the circulation to his hands is getting cut off.

“I’ll just get the mail then, while you put those away. Don’t break anything.”  

“I won’t!” He cheerfully calls out after her, setting the bags down carefully on the countertop and beginning to unload all of the items one by one. You’d think they’re preparing for the apocalypse, with how much food she’d bought, but Scott knows it’s actually much worse.

His brothers are coming over for dinner, and nobody eats like a Moir boy when presented with free food.

“There’s something here for you, Scott. It’s from Rome,” His mom walks back in, frowning at the muddy tracks left behind by his snow boots, “Which you can have _after_ you clean this up.”  

His excited smile falls and he grumbles affectionately while grabbing the mop, making sure the floor passes inspection before snatching the thick envelope impatiently from his mom’s hands.

The outside is tattered and dirty and hastily taped together in multiple places, with a sticker attached issuing a useless apology in Italian from the postal service for the disastrous state it’s in and a number to call if he's dissatisfied with their service. He _is_ dissatisfied, but he's not about to spend the money to make a useless international call. 

The return address says that it’s from Rosa and he rips it open with an eager smile and finds a brief letter from her alongside another envelope with a return address from Le Château Frontenac in Quebec City and a very official looking stamp.

_Scott,_

_This letter arrived for you. I think you will want it._

_We miss you!_

_Tutto il mio amore,_

_Rosa_

Scott sets Rosa's short note down on the table and white noise floods his ears and his heart starts racing as he opens the second envelope with no small amount of trepidation, sliding his thumb under the flap and working it free before pulling out the official stationary folded neatly inside and beginning to read.

 

_May 27, 2010_

_Dear Scott,_

_I hope that this letter finds you well and in good health, and that my security team got you safely away from the crowded café. I know you must be so confused and probably very angry with me. Our morning was never supposed to be interrupted like that, and I never should have kept the truth from you regarding who I was._

_It is very possible, and indeed quite probable, that you no longer care about receiving any explanation from me, but I feel I must give you one. You see, at first I lied to you because I was scared. You were a stranger and I woke up in your bed, lost and frightened, and I didn’t know if I could trust you._

_But then the more time we spent together, the more I got caught up in the fantasy of what it would be like to be a normal girl. I didn’t want you to treat me any differently because of who I really was. I just wanted to be us – Just Tessa and Just Scott. No titles. Just for a day._

_And then that night happened and you held me so close and I felt..._

_When I snuck out I expected a grand adventure, but I never expected you._

_I’m in love with you, Scott._

_You were so funny and kind and generous and you looked at me like a friend and a woman, without the hesitations and deference I’ve experienced from everyone outside of my family for my entire life. It was too wonderful to give up._

_I was going to tell you everything at breakfast – who I was, how I felt – I even fantasized about asking you to move to Quebec to be with me, but then you know what happened instead. I shouldn’t have waited._

_I’m so sorry that the paparazzi found out and dragged you into all of this chaos. I hope they leave you alone soon and that their interest fades quickly. It usually does – especially if there’s a new scandal in Hollywood (which there always is eventually)._

_I never meant to ruin your life, especially because you brought such joy into mine._

_I hope that someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me._

_Je t’adore,_

_Your Tess_

         

Scott falls into one of the chairs at the kitchen table without any grace, whacking his elbow on the wood along the way with a loud _crack_ that instantly catches his mother’s attention. But he hardly notices the pain or the way his mom keeps saying his name. All he can do is sit there in stunned silence.

 _She loves me_.

Or, at least, she did as of May twenty-seventh when she’d sent the letter.

Stupid Quebecois, Italian, and Canadian postal services fucking up all the customs and shipping and losing the letter in the mail for so long.

Maybe if he’d gotten the letter sooner he… they… everything might be different.

 _She said she loved me_.

“Scott, honey, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Has something happened to Rosa or her son?” His mom rushes over and takes the seat next to him, placing a gentle hand on his knee in concern, and Scott slowly shakes his head.

"No. No, it’s,” He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. His emotions have been completely thrown into chaos. His heart feels like it’s soaring, his stomach is rolling, his lungs can’t seem to remember their function anymore. It's as if the sun has burst out from behind the clouds and he's drowning all at once. “It’s a letter from Tessa.”

"Really? After five months?”

He can’t blame her for sounding so surprised. He's shocked too. It _has_ been a long time, and he hasn’t exactly been very forthcoming with the truth about their relationship in Rome other than brief statements like, “We spent the day together and she lied about who she was and then the paparazzi ruined my life and so I had to come home.”

“No. Apparently she sent it back in May, but I guess there must have been some problems with the mail system getting it here.”

“Well, what did she say?”

Just then the front door bursts open with a bang and his brothers tumble inside, tracking more mud and snow across the floor before kicking off their boots in a heap and shaking the snow off of their coats - leaving little hazardous puddles of water. 

“It’s a big one out there, eh? They’re saying it might bury us by the morning,” Danny says as he enters the kitchen, pausing to kiss their mom on the cheek before heading straight for the fridge and digging around inside for a snack.

“There’s at least a full meter out there now. We’re gonna have to shovel later. Did Dad get the snowblower fixed from last year?” Charlie asks, kissing their mom as well and grabbing the box of crackers out of the cupboard. 

"Both of you clean that water off my floors right now! And yes, your father did fix it and we’ll very much appreciate it if you can help Scott clear the sidewalks and driveway before you go tonight.”

“Speaking of our little brother, you’re being awfully quiet. Didn't even say hello,” Danny prods him in the shoulder with the cheese and cracker ensemble he’d created, “What’s up with you?”

"Tessa sent him a letter in May and it’s only just arrived.”

Scott can hear the words leaving his mother’s mouth, but he still can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the swirling letters on the page – each one fancy and neat – spelling out _I love you_ , and _Je t’adore_ , and most especially _Your Tess._

What the hell is he supposed to do with all that?

He’s spent the last five months in varying states of anger, regret, guilt, and heartache. Not necessarily in that order and not necessarily one at a time. But what he hadn’t let himself do (barring one drunken, heartsick night under the stars in July) is dwell on how he feels about her. It’s been all wrapped up in the betrayal. The lie. He’s carefully avoided taking the time to deconstruct all of his emotions and figure out his true feelings. But now...

_What’s the point, anyway? It’s not like I’ll ever see her again. She doesn’t even mention wanting to see me in the letter. Just an explanation and a declaration with no course of action._

"No shit!” Charlie exclaims, grabbing another chair and dragging it across the floor to sit by them, “What did she say?”

“Language!” Alma chastises him, mostly out of habit though, than genuine reprimand, “I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything for the past few minutes.”

“She said sorry,” Scott croaks, surprised at how dry his throat is – juxtaposed with how sweaty his palms have become, “And that she loves me.”

"Really?" Danny and Charlie shout together, his eldest brother clapping him on the back with a loud whoop, “That’s great, bro! What are you gonna do about it?”

“What do you mean?” Scott asks dumbly, finally managing to look away from the paper and stare at his brothers and mother – who are all staring back at him like he’s the world’s biggest moron.

“Scott, don’t be an idiot. You’ve been a miserable sod ever since you came home because this girl broke your heart, and now she tells you exactly what you want to hear - what any guy would want to hear - and suddenly you don’t know what to do? Come on,” Danny shakes his head and Scott sits up a little straighter, glaring back at him.

“It’s not that simple.”

“A gorgeous foreign princess tells you she’s in love with you and you want to _ignore_ that? You really are a-" Charlie shuts up at the look Alma shoots him. The one that means he'll get a bar of soap in his mouth faster than he can blink if he isn't careful (she'll do it too, it doesn't matter how old they all are). 

“She sent this five months ago!" Scott argues, crumpling the side of the letter in his hand as he grips it too tightly, "She probably doesn’t feel that way anymore. Especially since I never replied to this. I’m sure she assumed that I moved on, so she's probably done the same.”

“So you’re not even going to try? What happened to your love of competition? The Scott we know would never back down from a challenge." 

Scott knows when he's being goaded into an argument by his older brothers, but he takes the bait anyway, "Try what? She lied to me.”

"Try anything,” Charlie suggests, "She said she's sorry." 

“She’s a young woman in a vulnerable position, Scott," His mom says softly, "I’m sure she was going to tell you, but she had to be sure she could trust you first. Try to see it from her point of view.”

He knows she's right and that he doesn't have a good answer to that, so he folds his arms over his chest and slouches in his chair, shooting daggers at the floor and refusing to look at any of them. 

“What matters is this: do you love her?” Danny asks, and Scott continues glaring at the floor while grumbling his reply. 

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Danny argues, quiet but firm, "That's why you're being such a stubborn ass-pple berry pie," He edits himself quickly, glancing at Alma who nods in approval at his quick avoidance of the curse word, a laugh hinting at the corners of her lips. 

“Fine!" Scott throws his hands up in defeat, "Yes. Yes, okay? I love her. So what?”

That's exactly what he's been been trying to bury and avoid thinking about since May. At first he'd been able to hold onto his anger at her for lying and blamed her for ruining his life in Rome, but that had all been a front. An excuse to ignore the truth. The truth that after he'd gotten over her hiding who she was, and the fact that she was a _princess_ of all things, what really hurt was that he hadn't heard from her. That she apparently didn't feel the same way he did. Her feelings for him, or lack thereof, as the case may be, was the lie that had broken him.

He'd fallen in love, and she'd played him for a fool. 

Or so he'd thought. But apparently she hadn't lied about her feelings after all, their time together had been  _real_ , and that revelation has his head spinning. 

“So then you’ve got to find a way to tell her,” Danny nods, getting up to make another cheese and cracker sandwich, and both his mom and Charlie hum in agreement. 

"How? Write a letter and pray it doesn’t take another five months to reach her?” Scott asks desperately. 

“No. It’s got to be in person,” Charlie states matter-of-factly, "Less chance for miscommunication." 

“I don’t think I'd be allowed to just ring the doorbell at the palace and say, ‘Hey, it’s me, that one guy who unwittingly caused such a big scandal. Can I see Tess?’”

“Somebody call Cara," His mom suggests, "She can find anything online. Maybe Tessa will be at an event or something. After all, it is the Christmas season, surely the royal family celebrates publicly somehow.”

“I’ll do it. Hang on,” Danny pulls out his cell phone and steps into the living room to call their cousin, who answers on the second ring, “Hey Cara, Scott needs your help with something. We’re talking _epic romance_ here. How soon can you come over?”

There’s more muffled talking and then Danny walks back into the room with a triumphant smile, “She’s on her way.”

 

Cara arrives fifteen minutes later with her laptop and a grin, fist-bumping Danny and holding out her hand for a wad of cash from Charlie, “I told you we hadn’t seen the end of this story. I could feel it in my gut.”

“That’s all the holiday candy you’ve been eating,” Charlie grumbles, handing over the money with a frown, and Scott scowls at them both.

Apparently his family had been betting on his love life. 

Great. 

“Feminine intuition,” Cara smugly corrects him before setting her stuff down on the table, “Now let’s find our dear Scott his princess.”

It doesn’t take Cara very long to track down the official published schedule for the royal family, but unfortunately none of the events list specifically which family members will be in attendance.

“That’s probably for safety,” Alma points out, leaning over Cara’s shoulder and peering at the screen, “I wouldn’t want the whole world knowing where my children are going to be at all times, either.”

“So we’ll have to guess which one she’s most likely to be at,” Cara scrolls quickly down the list, faster than Scott can keep up with. 

“The official government dinner on the fifteenth?” Danny suggests, jabbing the screen with his finger - smudging the screen and getting slapped away by Cara.

Scott shakes his head, “I doubt it. Tess would hate something like that and even if her parents force her to go, it would be impossible to get inside. I'm sure it'll be crawling with security.”

“The breakfast with Santa for families who have lost a loved one during military service?”

“Maybe, but I think it’s more likely that her brother will be at that one, since he's in the military,” The details Tessa had told him about her life are seared in Scott's brain, but he also might have Googled her once or twice since being home to learn more (curiosity killed the cat, and all that). 

“Seems like you know Tessa pretty well,” Cara smirks, scrolling back up the list, “What about the tree lighting on December first? That seems like a nice wholesome family event. Hang on.”

It's true, that does seem like the perfect occasion for a family outing, and Scott waits anxiously while Cara googles the tree lighting event to see if she can dig up any more information. 

Eventually she pulls up a page with an article about the one that took place the previous year. On the top is a beautiful picture of the entire royal family standing in front of the newly lit tree with Tessa squeezed between her brothers in the middle, grinning up at one of them as if he’d just told her a joke right before the picture was taken.

Below it the caption reads: _His Majesty_ _King James and Her Royal Highness Queen Kate attend the annual tree lighting festival in downtown Montreal with their children while staying at their family estate in the area. Their youngest daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess Tessa, lit the tree, as per annual tradition._

“I think that looks like your best option, bro,” Danny says around a full mouth, and Cara nods. 

“I agree. It’s outdoors, everyone is welcome, it’s much more casual. It’s probably your best chance to get close enough to catch her attention.”

“Yeah, but December first is  _tomorrow,"_ Scott groans, "How am I going to get all the way to Montreal?”

“There aren’t any flights available,” Cara says sadly, already pulling up the flight search and fiddling around with all the options in the hope that she can find him something, but without any luck.

“You could drive,” Charlie suggests, but Danny looks out the window and shakes his head, pointing at the heavily falling snow.

His dad comes hobbling into the kitchen on his crutches, chiming in without missing a beat, “Not in this weather. He’d never make it without getting stuck or getting in a wreck. He'll have to take the train.”

Alma nods, standing up and pulling out a chair so that Joe can sit down, “Look up the train schedule, Cara.”

“There aren’t any more trains tonight, and there isn’t a direct one tomorrow either. You’re going to have to get creative.”

She changes a few of the options and looks around for individual tickets to other cities and it takes a little while but she finally pumps her fist in the air and excitedly says, “I did it! Okay, here’s what you’ve gotta do.”

It's absolutely insane, the idea of him traveling seven hundred kilometers just for a chance to  _maybe_ see her, and if he's very, very lucky, a chance to talk to her. But armed with the knowledge that she loved him, might _still_ love him, and the acceptance of his own feelings for her - still just as strong as they were dancing with her under the starry lights in Rome - Scott feels just hopeful enough - just  _crazy_ enough - to try it.  

In the end, he ends up buying six tickets to get to Montreal. The route is a mess - he’ll have to take the bus to London, the train from London to Kitchener, then Kitchener to Toronto, then Toronto to Kingston, Kingston to Ottawa (where he’ll have to go through customs and border control), then finally Ottawa to Montreal. And if everything works out he should arrive with just enough time to run to the square where the tree lighting will be happening before it’s actually lit. Once there, he’ll have to go against everything he’s been taught and rudely shove his way to the front and probably make some sort of scene to have any hope of Tessa noticing him, but for her he’ll do it.

He’ll do whatever it takes to see her again.

 


	7. no wonder my happy heart sings (your love has given me wings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tree lighting ceremony, some snow, and a surprise visitor.
> 
> Merry Christmas.

** no wonder my happy heart sings (your love has given me wings) **

****

Tessa adjusts her ponytail and pulls a few strands loose to shape her face before double-checking her appearance in the mirror. Everything has to look perfect for the festival tonight. She’s in charge of lighting the tree, has been ever since she was a little girl, and she’s determined to look her best in front of all the people and cameras. Especially since she’s painfully aware what kind of stories those cameras could be manipulated to say about her.

Leaving Italy and finding herself the subject of every tabloid and gossip blog had been excruciatingly painful and embarrassing. She’d been forced to limit all public appearances to only charity events and official government things – staying locked up inside the palace at all other times until the interest in her (and by extension, _him_ )  went back down. She hates being cooped up, but at the same time it had been nice having an excuse to stay inside and avoid everyone.

There’s a loud drumming of knuckles against her door before it swings open and Jordan waltzes inside, looking stunning in her bright red knee-length sweater-dress and newly purchased thigh high black boots that Tessa longs to borrow.

"Wow, Jo. If you weren’t so busy being a princess and collecting college degrees, you could definitely be a model.”

"Thank you!” Jordan puts her hand on her hip and does a little catwalk sashay and turn, “Always dress to impress. Are you ready? Mom says it’s time to go.”

“Yes. Let me just grab my things,” Tessa shrugs on her thick black coat and loops the world’s biggest red knit scarf around her neck for added protection against the cold. It had been sent to her by Rosa along with a note wishing her a merry Christmas and even though it’s bulky and obviously homemade, Tessa wears it with pride. Besides, if anyone criticizes her fashion choice she can always point out that it’s projected to be -6 that night, so she needs all the extra layers she can get.

“Okay, I’m ready now,” She turns around to find Jordan looking through the pile of mail on her bed next to Rosa’s opened box. They’re mostly letters from school children, but a few are from charities and official events that she’s scheduled to attend or thank you notes from events she’s sponsoring. Jordan picks up a few of the handwritten ones and shuffles through them.  

"Still nothing?” Her sister asks gently, and Tessa knows exactly what she’s referring to.

“No,” Tessa sighs, prepared for the familiar pang she feels in her heart whenever she thinks about _him_. Which is not often, if she can help it. It still hurts too much, knowing that she chose to lie and didn’t prepare him for what might happen if he was seen with her. It’s her fault he became a tabloid sensation.

"I don’t understand,” Jordan shakes her head and drops the letters back onto the pile, “He doesn’t make any sense.”

“What’s to understand? I told him that I loved him and he never replied. I think it’s time I accepted the truth – he hates me and can’t forgive what I did.” Tessa blinks back tears. She’s worked too hard on her make-up to ruin it now. Plus she swore two months ago that she’d stop crying over him. Plenty of girls get their hearts broken - even princesses – and she always did want to be just like everybody else.

“Nobody could ever hate you,” Jordan wraps her up in a big bear hug, the familiar scent of cinnamon instantly setting Tessa at ease, “And if he didn't care about you at all, he would have sold your story to the tabloids, but he didn't - he told all of them to fuck off, so he must genuinely care about you. But if he can’t forgive you for prioritizing your safety, a very valid concern, I might add, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Because I am a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to complete her?” Tessa pulls back and grins at her sister, who laughs at having her own mantra thrown back at her.

“That’s exactly right. Babes support babes,” She sticks out her hand so that they can do their secret handshake – the one they’d perfected one afternoon in their stick fort when Tessa was seven years old – and neither of them can resist giggling like school girls as they do it.

It’s moments like these that make Tessa so grateful to have a sister and remind her why she never could have really run away from this life. Jordan might set a high bar for her to look up to, she might be intimidatingly confident and poised and seemingly perfect, but underneath it all she’s always been Tessa’s biggest supporter and always available for a hug and a pep talk when needed.

"Are you two ready yet? We’re going to be late!” Their mother pokes her head in the door, looking quite regal in her perfectly tailored royal blue coat. She even has one of those old-fashioned fur muffs and somehow manages to make it work and look completely natural with her outfit. Not for the first time, Tessa feels envious of her mother's fashion sense.

Tessa and Jordan break down giggling again at having been caught, but instead of reprimanding them Kate just shakes her head with a little, exasperated smile and beckons them over, “Let’s go, girls!”

 

\-------

 

Tessa loves Christmas. There’s snow, and cozy sweaters, and hot chocolate, and decorating the tree with her brothers and sisters while _White Christmas_ plays in the background, and presents. The songs on the radio say it’s the most wonderful time of the year, and she truly believes it.

But she especially loves Christmastime in _Montreal_. The streets are all aglow with the lights from shop windows and there’s an incredible holiday market downtown complete with music, food, gifts, and tiny temporary shops that she loves exploring with Jordan (and a team of security, of course).

The little holiday market feels like the inside of a snow globe or the setting of one of the Hallmark movies she, Jordan, and her mom love to watch this time of year. There’s something simply magical about it. As if she could just close her eyes and all of her dreams will come true.

Which is why Tessa jumps out of the car as soon as the security team has finished securing the perimeter, not waiting a second longer than required to explore. Le Grand Marché de Noel never disappoints, and the towering tree stands right in the center of the market square - covered with lights and adorned with a giant star, just waiting for her to turn it on. She can’t wait to see it in all its glory.

The whole event will be broadcast on TV, so the official PR department for the royal family has a film crew following them around as they greet the shop owners and buy a few trinkets – or in her case, as she samples one of the vendor’s homemade banana hot cocoa recipe and laughs with a mixture of delight and relief when it actually tastes good – until it’s time for the ceremony.

A bell choir performs a few impressive numbers, inviting Jordan over to ring the biggest bell at the end of _Carol of the Bells_ and eliciting laughter from the crowd when she struggles to heft it. Jordan plays it up for more laughs, finding the tiniest bell and trying to convince the musician to swap with her, and Tessa laughs so hard she nearly breathes in her scarf by accident.

The King and Queen make speeches about the season and the meaning of the holidays and spreading love and cheer wherever you go. It’s cliché, but sweet and heartfelt and receives a round of applause from everyone in attendance.

Then finally, it’s her turn.

“And now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Your Highness, if you would please do the honors.” The mayor hands her the button and Tessa smiles and closes her eyes for a brief moment. It’s her tradition to make a wish every year when she presses the button to light the tree, and this year is no different.

She closes her eyes and thinks, _I wish I could see Scott again_ , and then clicks the button. The crowd oohs and ahs as the tree comes to life, shimmering brightly against the backdrop of the dark sky. Fat snowflakes have started to drift through the air, adding an aura of romance to the whole thing.

It’s absolutely perfect.

It’s tradition to sing a few carols together as a crowd after the tree is lit, and the big screen behind her lights up with the lyrics to _Have a Holly Jolly Christmas_ , followed by _Il Est Ne Le Divin Enfant_ and Tessa takes her place with her family again to join along singing with the crowd.

“Jouez, hautbois, résonnez, musettes,” Tessa sings loudly with one arm around Jordan and the other around Casey. As she sings she notices some sort of commotion going on at the front of the crowd, just behind the barrier. People seem to be annoyed, but not too bothered, so she dismisses it as probably a child acting out or people trying to leave early.

She turns to smile at the cameras just as an impossibly familiar face breaks through the hubbub and locks eyes with her.

 _Scott_.

She can’t breathe.

Her mouth seems frozen around the last syllable of _Chantons_ as she stares at him and struggles to figure out whether he’s really there or just a figment of her wishful thinking and overly creative imagination. Her heart is thundering like a racehorse in her chest and her cheeks are flushed and she feels lightheaded (probably a result of the whole not breathing thing), but no matter how many times she blinks, he’s still there smiling at her.  

_What is he doing here?_

“Smile!” The official royal photographer, Danielle, snaps her fingers and forces Tessa to focus. She can feel herself being pulled in closer together by her family so that they can take their annual photo in front of the tree, but it’s hard to drag her eyes away from him. She’s not entirely convinced that he won’t disappear into the crowd if she does.

“A few more! Let’s all look at me, please!” Danielle says cheerfully, and Tessa finally looks away from him and smiles and tries her best not to look utterly discombobulated. It’s all she can do not to look back at the crowd and and find him again.

When Danielle finishes, Scott's still standing in the same spot and her body floods with relief that he’s still there, chatting happily with the person standing next to him without taking his eyes off her.

His smile gets a little bigger and he gives her a little wave. Just a subtle thing that nobody else notices, and Tessa raises her hand a little in return – biting her bottom lip to keep the giddy laugh in her throat from bursting free.  

She has to pinch herself hard in the thigh to resist from running over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. Whether to hug him for coming to see her, or strangle him for his months of silence, she’s not quite sure.

_We are in public._

_Everyone is watching._

_Don’t cause a scene, Tessa!_

She mentally berates herself, pinching her thigh even harder to keep herself focused on what’s important right now – protecting her family’s image and not causing a scandal at one of the most beloved events of the year. They have to be careful this time, because if they’re seen together again it will bring down another tsunami of attention on them and she really would like to talk to him before that happens.

“It’s time to go,” Her mother says as the song ends, beginning to follow after the head of security as he leads them to the big black SUVs.

“Wait,” Tessa cries out, catching her whole family and entourage by surprise. They all stop to look back at her with raised eyebrows, and, in the case of her father, annoyance at being prevented from shutting himself up in his office with his law books and his work. “We should go talk to some of the crowd. They came all this way. We should at least say hi.”

“Definitely not.” Her father says firmly, but her mother overrides him with a hand on his elbow and a proud smile at her suggestion.

“That is a wonderful idea. Come on everybody – security will accompany us. We’ll be quick.”

“What are you doing?” Jordan grabs her by the arm and whispers in her ear as they head towards the people at the front of the barriers, “We’ve never done this before.”  

“Scott’s here,” Tessa explains, her eyes finding his again at the other end of the row – now full of curiosity and trained on her, waiting to see what’s going to happen.

“He is?” Jordan asks loudly - _too_ loudly – and Tessa hushes her quickly.

“Shh! Yes, he is.”

“You can’t be seen with him here. You know that, right?” Jordan replies, talking rapidly. They’re running out of time before they get within earshot of the people waiting to say hello to them. “Say a quick hello as you pass, don’t treat him any differently from anyone else, and I’ll tell Robert to extract him once we’ve gone and bring him back to the palace.”

“Good plan. Thanks, Jordan.”

Jordan smiles and squeezes her arm in encouragement, “Hey, what are sisters for?”

 

It’s hard concentrating on the people right in front of her when all Tessa wants to do is run down the line until she finds Scott, cameras be damned, but she manages.

There’s a seemingly endless stream of greetings and selfies and little kids who talk endlessly about Santa Claus and presents and the tree. She plasters on her bright, friendly, media-ready smile and tries to act interested in everybody, but soon it all morphs into one big jumble and she doesn’t even realize she’s made it to him until his hand wraps around hers and she looks up to find warm, light brown eyes looking back at her.

"Tess-Your Highness,” He corrects himself and bows a little while briefly running his thumb over her knuckles through her glove, and she shivers – a blush forming high on her cheeks.

The title feels all wrong coming out of his mouth and she wants to beg him never to use it again, but Tessa smiles instead – highly aware of everyone around them watching her. All she can do is pray that none of them read the tabloids and recognize him.

“Thank you,” Her voice comes out dry and raspy and she has to cough and try again, “Thank you so much for coming.” 

“Well, I just really had to see _the tree_.” He drops his voice on the last two words, adding extra weight to them and giving her a significant look. 

The tree? Does that mean her? She’s not an idiot, she knows there’s no way he came all the way to another country just to see a tree lighting and sample the unique cocoa flavors, but still. She hardly dares to dream that it means what she thinks it does.

She swallows around the lump in her throat and says, “I hope the tree meets your expectations.”

“It exceeds them,” His smile is warm and his eyes twinkle at her and for a brief moment Tessa forgets where they are as she gets lost in the memory of the last time he’d smiled at her like that – tangled up together between the sheets in his tiny apartment. There’s a flash of heat in his eyes and she wonders if he’s remembering the same thing.

His grip tightens slightly on her hand, as if to pull her closer, and Tessa remembers with a start that her hand is still in his and there’s still a crowd surrounding them, and she wrenches her hand away.  

“Later,” She murmurs under her breath, trying to convey the message, “ _my security guard will find you and bring you to my home so that we can talk in private”_ with a single look before moving onto the next person.

She can’t resist glancing back at him a few times as she finishes greeting everyone else, then again as she gets into the car to leave, and each time finds him looking at her. Like two magnets drawn together, powerless to resist.

“Don’t worry, I talked to Robert,” Jordan whispers in her ear as she pulls the car door shut, cutting off Tessa’s view of him, “He’ll bring him to the back of the palace and you can talk to him outside. Nobody will bother you there.”

“Thank you, Jordan,” Tessa says earnestly, pulling her sister in for a hug and receiving a little pat on the back in return as Jordan chuckles.

“You’re welcome, Tess. Go get your man.”

 

\-------

 

Waiting for Robert to arrive and give her the signal is agonizing, and when he finally does nod at her from across the sitting room Tessa is embroiled in a rather intense game of Scopa with her brothers and sister, having taught her whole family how to play when she’d returned from Rome.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” She announces, standing up from the table and handing her cards over to Jordan, “Jordan can play my hand.”

“Tess! Can't you wait until we’re done with this round?” Kevin complains and Casey joins in – her brothers using their tried and true method of trying to guilt trip her until she gives in – but Jordan swoops in to her defense.

“Guys, let a girl pee. Jeez.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back! But, uh, don’t wait for me.”

“Just go, Tess.”

Jordan shoos her away with a laugh and Tessa practically runs out of the room, slipping across the marble floors in her socks and sliding down the banister of the grand staircase (which thankfully nobody is there to witness, because that’s a one way ticket to getting into serious _trouble_ ).

Eventually she makes it to the main back door of the house and she hastily tugs on her boots and coat from the closet nearby before throwing the door open and stepping outside onto the patio.

The snow is still falling, thicker and heavier now, and her heart sinks when she doesn’t find Scott waiting for her.

_Isn’t he supposed to be back here? This is where Jordan told Robert to bring him._

She runs to the edge of the terrace and looks out over the gardens towards the lake, and that’s when she spots him – the shape of him distinguishable against the edge of the water thanks to the lights from the palace windows.

Her stomach twists itself into a bundle of nerves and she descends the stairs slowly and walks quietly towards him. The urge to run to him suddenly smothered by fear.

After all, what if he’s only there to tell her goodbye? That he’s not angry anymore, but still wants nothing to do with her? It’s probably more likely that he’s here to bring things to a proper, polite end, than that he’s come to make some grand romantic gesture.

He seems to sense her presence as she walks up behind him and he spins around – his eyes wide with fear and trepidation before realizing that it’s her.

“Hi,” She greets him quietly, twirling the rings around her finger and wishing she’d thought to put on gloves before coming outside.

“Hey,” He stands there awkwardly, his hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets as he shuffles from foot to foot.

She should say something. Anything. Something to break the ice or an apology or even just ask how he is, but her mouth just hangs there. Useless.

“I have to tell you, Tess, my life has gotten a lot more James Bond with you in it,” He jokes, his face brightening into a shy smile, and Tessa feels some of the knot in her stomach loosen as she giggles – making him smile wider.   

The snow clings to his hair and eyelashes as it swirls around them and Tessa wants to brush (or kiss) it away, but she tucks her hands under her armpits and takes a determined stance. They have to talk.

“What are you doing here, Scott?” She asks him quietly, and Scott tugs his hat off the run his hand through his hair before he replies.

“I got your letter.”

“You mean the one I sent you _six months ago_?”

It comes out sounding more like an accusation than she’d meant it to, but she can’t help it. She’s been heartbroken over him for months, but trying to move on, and he chooses _now_ to turn up? Is it just so he can tell her he doesn’t reciprocate her feelings? Because she’s not sure she could handle that.

“Yeah. It got lost in the mail a few times,” He trips over his words, rushing to get them all out as if he’s afraid she’s going to stop him or walk away before he can, “Rosa had to forward it to me. You should have seen the package, Tess. All ripped up and covered in sloppy tape with the crappiest attempt at an apology I’ve ever seen. They must have lost it a million times somewhere between Quebec and Italy and Canada. I’m in Canada now, by the way. Back home. I’ve moved back home to Ilderton.”

“Oh… So you weren’t ignoring me?” She takes a tentative step towards him, then thinks better of it and stops moving.

_Don’t make any assumptions. He might still be rejecting you._

“No, T,” A little white puff of air swirls in front of his face as he huffs, shaking his head a little, “I wasn’t ignoring you. I promise.”

The nickname hits her right in the heart, making it lurch inside her chest, and she wants so badly to kiss him. On his mouth, on his cheeks where they're red from the cold, all along his jaw. “I thought maybe you were so angry with me that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Tess,” He steps forward, holding his hands up to reach for her, but hesitating at the last moment, “I was angry, and I thought, at first, that you had used me, but I understand why you lied. And,” He swallows nervously, as if preparing to say something monumentally important, “It wasn’t until I got your letter yesterday that I realized… I… You said you loved me.”

He practically blurts out the last part, saying it more like a question than a statement, and Tessa bites her bottom lip and nods, twisting the rings around her finger even faster.

“Yeah,” She whispers, holding her breath.

“Do you think you could love me again?” He asks it so softly, so full of hope, and Tessa feels like she’s flying.

“I never stopped.”

His face breaks out in a huge smile, filling her whole body with a warmth she hasn’t felt since Rome, despite the snow and freezing temperatures. He walks towards her and pulls her in for an embrace, but Tessa stops him with a hand on his chest. As much as she wants to hold him and kiss him and never let him go, they aren’t done talking.  

“But, Scott, this life – I’ll never be a normal girl. We can’t go to the movies or wander freely around town or go to the mall or amusement park. We’ll always be watched. Magazines will write about us and paparazzi will take pictures and tabloids will spread rumors and lies. You’d be giving up the life you know – a lot of your privacy – if you dated me.”

He has to be prepared. She’d never be able to live with herself if she let him get swept up in this again without making the decision willingly.

Scott tries to pull her in close again, and this time she lets him – breathing deeply when he kisses her forehead and smiles softly down at her.

“I thought a lot about that on the journey here, and you’re worth it. I love you, Tessa Virtue, and if loving you means my life gets a little crazier, then that’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.”

“But are you _sure_?”

He answers her with a searing kiss, taking her by surprise and not giving her enough time to properly reciprocate before he pulls back and says, “Je t’adore, remember? I meant it back in Rome, and I mean it now. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Because I won’t blame you if you want to back out-“

“Tess,” Scott laughs, bumping her nose with his, “Stop trying to give me an out. I don’t need it. I know how I feel, the question is how do you feel?”

“I love you, too,” She answers quickly, and when he smiles it feels like she’s looking straight at the sun.

This time when his lips meet hers she’s ready for it.

It’s passionate and romantic and full of promise, and after a minute or two Scott surprises her by lifting her off her feet and spinning her around – their laughter echoing around the garden when he slips on the snow and they nearly fall.

“Come on,” She grins after he sets her back down carefully, “I want you to meet my family.”

“Can you even find them in this house?” He teases, peppering warm kisses along her cold cheeks and making her giggle.

“I’ll draw you a map.”

“As long as your bedroom’s on it, that's all that matters,” He winks, draping his arm across her shoulders and keeping her close to his side as they walk back towards the house, and Tessa reaches underneath his coat to tickle his lower back – laughing when he jumps and squirms away.

“Definitely. Just don’t let the king catch you on your way there.”

The color drains from his face and he freezes, forcing Tessa to turn around and look at him just as her hand lands on the doorknob, “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot that you being a princess meant there was a king. And a queen. And your brothers are princes. And your sister is a princess. Oh my god – should I have worn a tux?” He looks down at his coat and jeans and sneakers, tugging at them uselessly before finding her eyes again, and Tessa tries not to laugh.

“Scott, it’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

“I intend to be with you for a long time, Tess. I’d like to avoid losing my head on the first day here.”

It’s so wonderfully amazing to hear him say that, that Tessa simply has to kiss him again. And again. And again.

When they finally break for air she coyly smiles up at him, twirling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck as she says, “Don’t worry. Father doesn’t behead people… anymore.”

She laughs at Scott’s terrified expression and leads him into the palace, his hand held firmly in hers, and this time she doesn’t intend to ever let go.

 

~ _la_   _fine_ ~

 


End file.
